


Nightminds

by OpenHeart_WickedMind



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 15:58:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 48,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpenHeart_WickedMind/pseuds/OpenHeart_WickedMind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After feigning responsibility for years, Bruce goes back to Princeton to figure out to follow in his family’s footsteps without losing himself. He ends up making an unlikely acquaintance that challenges his ideas about love and what justice really is.  </p><p>This story is set before the events of Batman Begins.</p><p>I do not own any of the characters. The title comes from the song Nightminds by Missy Higgins – a song I thought fit this story and the paring quite well.</p><p>(I originally posted this in 2011 on my LiveJournal account under my old username: Spygirl90)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I'm not staying in the underclassmen's dorms?”

The gravel crunched beneath the tires of the Royls Royce as it came to a halt in front of a large concrete building.

Alfred turned to face the young man next to him. He smiled, hoping to reassure Bruce, who hadn't said anything the entire ride from Gotham to Princeton.

“I thought you would be more comfortable if you had some room to breath after a long day of classes,” said Alfred.

Bruce smiled at him, “yes. That does sound nice.”

A chauffeur opened their doors and the two men stepped out and took in their surroundings. The large apartment building in front of them was a cement building several stories high, given a modern look by the steel fixtures that jutted out of the building at odd angles. It might have been seen as artistic to some but to Alfred it seemed like a gigantic porcupine. It housed other students from affluent families on each floor, but Alfred didn't choose the building for this reason. He chose it for the privacy the top floor suite would give Bruce. The apartment stood on the outskirts of campus, but close enough that Alfred could see some of the large stone buildings of the campus on the other side of the hedges lining the property.

He looked across the top of the car at the young master's face; Bruce stared at the buildings with a look as cold as the stones themselves. He caught Alfred looking out of the corner of his eyes and his expression changed to one of cheer in an instant. Anyone who didn't know Bruce would have thought the expression was genuine but Alfred knew better. Bruce was trying to put on a good face despite the turbulence in his heart. This was the same school his father had attended after all – it must be bringing back poignant and painful memories.

“Think they still pull the first day's prank?” Bruce asked with a hollow sound to his voice.

Alfred laughed, joining Bruce on the other side of the car.

“Thinking of recreating some of your fathers old tricks?”

“Perhaps.”  

The young master still looked lost in thought as he stared at the school grounds.

“Mr. Wayne, shall I bring your bags to your room,” the chauffeur interjected, gesturing to the two large leather suitcases in the open trunk.

“All of your other belongings have been brought before hand,” said Alfred.

Bruce looked at the posh apartment building in front of them and then to the chauffeur.

“I think I can make it from here,” Bruce said, taking his bags from the car. Bruce placed the bags at his feet and turned to Alfred.

“Do you think you can run the house without me?” Bruce smiled.

“Oh, I think I can manage,” Alfred said with a grin.

Alfred let Bruce go and watched as he walked up the short path to the apartment. A bellhop dressed in maroon greeted him before he disappeared inside.  Alfred let out a sigh getting into the car, his eyes fix on the apartment building.

Alfred hoped he made the right decision about the apartment. He knew Bruce would like to be away from his classmates after activities at school were finished. Ever since his parent's tragic death the young master had not been very good with people. Well, he was good with people, or so it seemed to those on the outside. But the outgoing schoolboy was just an act. If given a choice Bruce would have preferred to be alone. Although he was surrounded by many people at school, he never acquired any close friends. The only friend he ever had was Miss. Dawes, whose mother had stopped working at Wayne Manor a few years after the Wayne's deaths. In the beginning, Master Bruce had tried to keep up a friendship with her, even though she had moved far from the manor. But in the end, the friendship had simply faded away. They moved in different circles and Miss. Dawes brought up too many old memories. Memories of a simpler time when Bruce had been happier.

Bruce's travels after leaving prep-school were unknown to Alfred. He hadn't come home after gradation like Alfred thought he would, but instead chose to live the wild-life with a few adventurous comrades. Two years later he had come home to attend Harvard. He didn't even make it through the first school year before they turned him out. Bruce had never told him why and Alfred never asked. Bruce had gone to Europe and then returned announcing he wanted to attend Princeton. Alfred didn't know what had inspired Bruce to attempt college again. Perhaps it was an attempt to finally become more like his father? Alfred sighed.  Bruce, as always, was very difficult to read. The young master had progressively gotten better at hiding his true feelings as he grew, separating himself from his feelings until they were a separate entity he could place in a box to never look at again. Then, he would act in a way he thought appropriate to the situation, not how he truly felt. 

The picturesque buildings of Princeton reflected on the windows as the car drove away from the university.

 _I hope this is the start of a new life for Bruce,_ thought Alfred, _I hope he can find someone who will make him take off the facade of happiness he's worn for so long and replace it with something genuine._


	2. Chapter 2

Bruce lay quietly in his bed and listened to the sounds of the children of the nation’s elite scramble on the floor below him as they planned for the annual Princeton first year prank. 

Earlier that day Adrian Belzer, heir to an international chain of kosher supermarkets, approached him with his hand extended as Bruce returned from a run.

“Bruce Wayne,” he said with a hint of an East Coast accent. Belzer's argyle sweater perfectly complemented the fall colors, his chinos freshly pressed and Bruce swore he saw a dusting of makeup on his fair skin. Bruce had encountered dozens of others like him in his life. Spoiled trust fund babies whose parents chose everything for them, down to their pressed trousers. They had never experienced any discomfort or pain in their lives. He hated interacting with them like he was their equal when he knew they didn’t care about who he really was. They just wanted to bask in the name of Wayne for a while.  

Bruce shook his hand.

“I've seen you around campus over the past few days and I wanted to make sure we had a proper introduction before the school year started,” Belzer leaned in and lowered his voice, “It is always good to know where your  friends are.”

Bruce forced a smile to cover the sneer that started at Belzer’s comment. Of course “friends” meant anyone within his own social strata. He hated snobs like Belzer, someone who thought the only people of interest were found within their own economic standing. Yet, his own name required him to interact with these annoyances in argyle.

Belzer started again, in the same low tone, before Bruce could interject, “We're going to steal The Clapper tonight. Care to join us?”

 _Adhering to the same old traditions_ , Bruce thought, willing himself not to roll his eyes. 

“Unfortunately, I'll have to pass,” Bruce said as cordially as he could, “If I don't get a good night’s sleep it just gives me these awful bags under my eyes.”

Bruce added in the last part for laughs because he knew Belzer would buy right into it.

“Isn't that just the coincidence, I get the same thing. I have an amazing herb blend from Paris that really sets it straight. I'll send a bottle up to you,” Belzer turned away from Bruce to admire the blonde heiress just walking past. 

“If you'll excuse me,” Bruce said as he retreated towards the elevators at the back of the lobby.

“No chance I could convince you to join us then?” Belzer called after him.

“Beauty rest,” Bruce said as he entered the paneled elevator on the other side of the small lobby.

A nasally laugh met his ears as the doors closed, and he could only assume it belonged to Belzer.

The memory made Bruce exhale with aggravation and turn onto his side, the sheets tangling around his legs. Another memory crept into his mind as he looked out of the large window across his bedroom.

“Before the first day of class a few of us scrambled up to the top of the bell tower and stole the bell,” Thomas Wayne laughed as he turned a page in his Princeton yearbook.

An eight year old Bruce sat on the large leather sofa next to his father, his cast arm propped up on a few throw pillows. Bruce looked down at the faded pages in the book.

“Why would you do that Dad?” Bruce asked.

Thomas chuckled and patted Bruce on the back, “because it was fun. It was a great way of letting the professors know they weren't completely in charge.”

His mother appeared in the doorway, of Bruce's bedroom, laughing. Martha entered and sat on the arm of the sofa so she could look down at her husband’s image in the book.

“Your father was just a troublemaker,” she snickered, lightly nudging his fathers’ arm.

“You didn't complain back then,” Thomas said, smiling at his wife.

Bruce looked down again at the piece of memorabilia, confused, “I don't understand Dad. Even though you stole the bell, classes would stills start anyways...”

A loud thump somewhere in the building startled Bruce out of his thoughts. He rolled again onto his back and gazed up at the white ceiling.

Stealing the bell wouldn't stop classes; it was just a pointless exercise in tradition. Just like his youth. Even at his most reckless times Bruce knew he couldn't stop avoid fact that he was expected to walk in his father's footsteps. Even back then, he knew it had all just been a delay up until this moment, when he had to stop living for himself and start living up to the monumental name of Wayne.


	3. Chapter 3

The ghosts of family memories were still in Bruce’s mind as sat in the back of the large classroom the following day, flipping through one of his textbooks.

The signature Belzer laugh filled his ears and he looked up to see the young aristocrat hobbling in the room, surrounded by other students. Belzer had a small cast on his left foot and moved with the help of a mahogany crutch tucked under his shoulder. The babble of his entourage became more audible as he made is way up to where Bruce sat.

“Weren't you afraid they'd find out?”

“Who climbed the tower?”

“Does it hurt?” a redheaded girl gestured to Belzer’s cast with a look of concern on her face that made Bruce want to laugh.

“Oh no, my doctor fixed it right up,” Belzer turned his attention away from the group and towards occupied chairs in the classroom as he ascended the stairs.  Bruce tried to hide behind his book to avoid another mind-numbing confrontation.

“Bruce!”

 _Shit._ Bruce rolled his eyes, lowering his book.

Belzer deviated from his path up the isle to limp over to Bruce's desk. Belzer leaned on the desk and slapped Bruce on the shoulder.

“You missed a heck of a party last night.”

Bruce put on his best fake grin and gestured to Belzer's cast, “I can see that.”

Belzer moved his foot slightly and laughed like it was the first time he noticed that cast, “Oh a bit of clumsiness on my part, I dropped the clapper on my foot.”

Suddenly, the redhead was by Bruce's desk, “A group of us went there last night but Adrian insisted on climbing up there and getting the clapper down by himself.”

“Well someone has to hold up the family tradition,” Belzer said with a laugh, a few other of his adoring fans joined in. He winked at the redhead and she blushed.

 _Oh for the love of god_ , Bruce wondered if he could knock himself unconscious with his philosophy textbook.

“Pointless.”

The voice came from Bruce's left. He turned to look at its source, along with Belzer and his group.

A boy lounged along a windowsill, his right leg tucked underneath him while the other dangled free by the wall. He wore faded brown trousers and a matching vest; the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows.

“What did you say?” Belzer words were clipped, taking away all of the learned smoothness they had before.

The boy's eyes remained focused on the book in his hand, “it is pointless. As in, what you’re talking about is pointless.”

Belzer laughed, “What would you know about it, hand-out?”

Bruce recognized the insult immediately; it was slang many of the elite at the school used to describe those who got into school not because of their place in society, but because of merit and grades.

The boy sat up in one graceful motion, folded the paperback in his hand, put it in his back pocket, and started towards the group.

“Well, here we are in class, even though you stole the bell. Trying to make some sort of a statement,” the boy punctuated each word with a gesture, “If you really wanted to shake things up you would have taken all of the desks and burnt them in the courtyard. That would really scare the shit out of all the teachers who were expecting you to be all nonconformist by stealing the stupid bell. But in fact, by stealing the bell you were adhering to tradition, which means you are neither radical, nor nonconformists. All you are is a bunch of rich assholes who can't think for themselves.”

The boy leaned against the desk beside Bruce and pushed a wayward strand of dirty blond hair behind his ear. Bruce looked at the figure next to him. His thin lips were quirked in to a smirk and his eyes sparkled with amusement as he waited for a response, like this was all a game to him.

 “Ok I've had just enough of your lip, you drug-pushing reject,” Belzer hobbled towards the boy, his arms in a guarded position and ready to fight.

The boy side-stepped Belzer's swing with ease. Belzer toppled to the floor as the redhead in his entourage let out a squeal of distress. Some students in the classroom chuckled at Belzer's expense which only seemed to make him angrier as he attempted to get up, his cast slipping on the tile floor.

The boy stared down at Belzer.

“See _that_ is your problem. You’re all empty gestures with no follow through,” the boy stuck his hands in his pockets and walked towards the exit.

Belzer growled in frustration as a burly jock from his group helped him to his feet.

“You're a dead man, Napier!”  Belzer shouted as two of his goons started after the boy. Belzer stood, watching his cohorts bear down on Napier with a satisfied look on his face that made Bruce sick.

Bruce's feet were moving before he knew what he was doing. In a moment he was at the front of the room where Belzer’s goons head began to fight the boy called Napier. Napier looked like he had probably been in a fight or two before by the way he dodged most of the punches and landing a few strikes when he could. Even still, Bruce knew he couldn't hold out for long against two men.

Belzer noticed Bruce running down the stairs, “Ah! Way to go Brucie, that bastard deserves a good pounding.”

One goon had the Napier by the arms as the other punched him in the face. _This is not fair_ , Bruce thought as he landed a solid right cross on the thug holding Napier, sending him flailing into the nearest row of desks. Napier took care of the other goon, who was distracted by Bruce's intervention by tripping him up with the flag pole next to the teacher’s podium. 

Napier chuckled as Belzer's crony entangled himself in the cloth.

“Wayne!  What on earth are you doing?” said Belzer.

Bruce, still on defense, stood close to Napier.  They had a better chance of overcoming another attack by sticking together.

“If you want to fight him, fight him, but don't be a coward. Two-on-one isn't a fair fight,” said Bruce. 

“What?! You would defend someone like him?” Belzer shook with anger. He stepped towards Bruce with clenched fists.

“What is going on in here?”

The group turned to see a large man in his sixties walking into the room.

“Professor, Napier started a fight out of nowhere,” Belzer said pointing at Napier who wiped a bit of blood from his mouth with a green handkerchief.

“That is untrue. Napier was leaving the class when these two jumped him,” Bruce gestured to Belzer's thugs.

The professor squinted at the group of students through the square glasses perched on his stubby nose.

“Napier? What are you doing in here? You took this class last year.”

“You don't want to see me again Professor Patterson? But we had so much fun last year,” Napier was back to the casual persona that was there before the first fist was thrown.

“Napier, get out of my classroom and do not harass my students again or I will send you straight to the Dean.”

 “I was just starting to enjoy myself,” Napier said as he put his hand in his pockets and started towards the door

 _Just starting to have fun? He was about to get beaten to a pulp_ , Bruce's eyes followed the tall boy as he walked, motions casual and fluid, toward the door. He acted as if he had just finished a game of chess instead of engaging in a fight.

“Bruce Wayne? How did you get tangled up in this mess?” The professor turned to Bruce, hands running down his suspenders.

At the mention of his full name Napier turned around and looked directly at Bruce, one eyebrow arched up.

“Bruce Wayne,” Napier grinned, “well you've made quite the slip up helping a ‘drug-pushing loser’ like me. They will shun you for the rest of the year.”

Bruce's eyes flicked to Belzer and his entourage, who were making their way back to their seats.

“I don't judge my actions by whether or not they will keep me in someone's good favor.”

 “Interesting.”

Napier saluted the Professor Patterson and walked out the door, leaving just abruptly as he arrived.


	4. Chapter 4

Bruce walked out of the Economics building and towards his apartment. The sunset created orange squares on the wall ahead of him as the light coming from the courtyard up ahead filtered into the dark hallway. Many classes had been let out and students were more concerned in getting back to their dorms to prepare for the inevitable Friday night frat party than lounging in the courtyard.

Bruce's eyes rested on the lone figure standing by the courtyard monument among the withered plants. Bruce recognized the boy from the scuffle in Professor Patterson's class instantly even though a week had passed since the incident. Napier, they had called him.

His outfit was similar to the one before only this outfit was gray, covered by an unbuttoned black sport coat. Napier’s eyes flicked from one of the courtyard to another as he made his way leisurely around the statue. He appeared to be looking for someone. Several students passed through the courtyard as he stood there but he didn't pay attention to any of them, nor did they pay any to him.

A large group of boys walked towards Napier who was crouching to look at something Bruce couldn't see. Sensing another fight, Bruce moved so he was partially hidden by one of the posts near the group.

Napier looked at the leader of the gang with a smile, extending his hand. They shook and Bruce saw the corners of bills in Napier's hand when he pulled away. Napier put one hand in his pocket and gave the boy a small green envelope. The boy nodded and left, the whole transaction done in silence.

“Do all billionaires enjoy moonlighting as peeping toms, or just the exceptionally handsome ones?” Napier eyes’ remained focused on the direction his customers had left in.

Bruce moved out from behind the post the last part of Napier's statement sticking in his head.

_Handsome?_

“I thought you had gotten yourself into trouble again,” said Bruce.   

Napier turned to face him, the same glint of amusement in his eyes that had been there in the classroom, “Coming to my rescue again? Well I'm flattered really but as you saw, it was just a normal business transaction.”

Bruce's eyes glanced at Napier's pocket.

“Business transaction of what, you want to ask?” Napier stuck his hands in his pocket and pulled out several green packets, “Anything that can be sniffed, smoked, shot or slicked.”

Bruce looked around them, feeling nervous.  “You seem to be pretty sure of yourself, showing that stuff in the open.”

Napier put them back in his pocket, “No, I simply don't care.”

Bruce's eyebrows rose, “You don't care?”

Napier shrugged and sat on the low stone wall that followed the perimeter of the courtyard, “What is meant to happen will happen, the people who are really stupid are the ones who think they can somehow change that fact.”

 _Why am I even talking to him? He is a drug dealer who clearly is a little off center_. Something about his reasoning in the classroom caught Bruce's attention. It played over in his mind for the past week as he drifted off to sleep. Everyone else he met seemed to be stuck in the same plotted-out track: school to work to family to death. But Napier seemed to bite his thumb at the whole system, while simultaneously tipping his hat to the inevitability of it all.

“Although _you_ seem to be one of the few above-the-crust children here who don't seem to adhere to the same mindless mantra as your peers,” Napier folded one of his legs up onto the wall, perched his chin on his knee, and looked up at Bruce.

Bruce didn't quite know how to reply, “Is that suppose to be a compliment?”

Napier stood and grinned, “Hm, it is meant to be exactly what you want it to be.”

“I don't think you know enough about me to come to that sort of conclusion,” said Bruce.

Napier circled the statue as he spoke, “Well for one thing, you haven't been to any of the high-brow parties on campus yet _or_ the scummy frat parties for that matter.”

Bruce folded his arms across his chest and he couldn't stop a smirk from playing at the corner of his lips, “Following me, Napier?”

Napier laughed, “No, parties are my biggest source of revenue. It would be a poor financial decision if I didn't attend them. Not like I particularly enjoy being around the sweaty, drug-charged, beer-chugging future of America but this education doesn't exactly pay for itself.”

A loud cough interrupted their conversation. Bruce turned to see a girl dressed all in black with heavy makeup standing on the outskirts of the courtyard.

“Pardon me Wayne,” Napier nodded his head towards the girl, “Business calls.”

Again, Bruce wasn't quite sure what to say.

Napier turned back to Bruce when he was halfway across the small courtyard, “You are right about one thing Wayne, I don't know you well enough. Let's try to remedy that.”

Against his better instincts, Bruce gave a curt nod. Napier grinned, and Bruce could see amusement in his eyes he saw after he fought Belzer’s henchmen.

Bruce started to walk away when Napier shouting his name caught his attention.

“The name’s Jack. Jack Napier,” he called after him.

Bruce turned away and walked briskly down the hallway leading out of the courtyard. He felt a mixture of emotions swirl through him. Why was he so interested in Jack? He was the definition of trouble. Not as if Bruce hadn't been there at one time in his life. But he was trying to do something different now, progress on that stupid path that had been laid out for him.

Their conversation played continuously in his head as he approached his apartment building. Jack had completely disarmed Bruce with his beguiling smile and confidence. It felt like he had just engaged in a battle of words and somehow, Jack had come out on top. 

Bruce arrived back at his apartment still trying to get the imprint of their conversation out of his head. But it kept teasing at the fringe of his mind. He found something even more startling emerging out of his brief conversation with Jack the longer the thoughts percolated in Bruce's conscious. Bruce got into the shower, hoping to wash the thoughts of Jack from his mind.

The words they exchanged in the courtyard today were louder than the hum of the shower against the tile. Bruce closed his eyes, rested his head against the wall and let the water surround his body in warmth.

Jacks' smile appeared before his eyes.

_“Do all billionaires enjoy moonlighting as peeping toms or just the exceptionally handsome ones?”_

Bruce found himself smiling in spite of himself.

_“Following me, Napier?”_

The more Bruce thought, it seemed less like a battle of words and more like conversations he had numerous times before with girls.

A question kept Bruce's eyes open that night, even though his head hit the pillow hours before.

_Were we flirting?_


	5. Chapter 5

Jack tapped his fingers on the large glass door of Bruce’s apartment or “crown royal” as the other Princeton students called it. The guard looked at him through the glass and Jack gave a short four-fingered wave. I buzzing noise came from the intercom next to the door.

“Who are you here to see?” the guards voice crackled through the intercom.

“Bruce Wayne.”

The guard looked up, no doubt assessing his casual appearance, old jeans and t-shirt, was different from the rest of the walking moneybots that piloted around the hallways. Perhaps he should have waited to change for the party after he dragged Bruce out of this fortress. Also the thought of undressing anywhere near Bruce was tantalizing, to say the least.

“Name?”

“Jack Napier.”

The man looked down to check a book in front of him. _Well at least he's extending me the professional courtesy_.

“You're not in the book,” the guard was not going to let him exactly like the thought. Now he could began his first test for Bruce.

“Well I'm not going to make an appointment to see my friend, just call him up and tell him Jack-y boy is here.”

The guard gave him one last glare before grabbing the phone on the wall. Jack leaned against one of the cement ashtrays outside of the large doorway and waited. Will he come down? Jack knew the proposition would at least intrigue Bruce and he didn't seem like someone who could turn down a challenge, much like himself. After their encounter last Friday Jack tried to keep a closer eye on the billionaire and saw something interesting. Although many people approached him, Bruce kept mostly to himself. He would eat lunch with a small group of people sometimes, but mostly he would go back to his apartment and only emerge to go to the gym. 

_“I don't judge my actions by whether or not they will keep me in someone's good favor.”_

After a year of peddling drugs to classmates and staff Jack had nearly met half of the people on the large campus. But he had yet to bump into anyone remotely interesting. Sure his looks brought a few people into his bed now and then but he disposed of them as quickly as he could. Women always wanted more than he wanted to give and men would always want to come back for seconds. Boring.

He had stopped into Patterson's classroom on the first day of school to remind the flaccid old prick that he hadn't gotten him expelled. It was his niece's choice to take the acid; he'd only supplied it to her. If she wants to run around the campus naked and screaming about her demonic clothes that is her problem, not his. Jack never understood why people blamed the dealer all the time; it was the user's choice. Are you going to sue the person who sold a kid a gun after he guns down some of his thug rivals? Who pulled the trigger there? The excuses people used to hide from their actions were pathetic. That's what he loved about drugs; it stripped away a layer of flesh that just left people totally exposed.  It may have been the only thing his parents ever showed him but it was a pretty good lesson. Seeing Bruce in Patterson’s class made him quickly re-think how he would spend his year.

“Mr. Napier,” the edge to the guards' voice indicated he had said it more than once.

 _Woopise stuck in my head_ , Jack laughed to himself, _what would daddy think?_

“Yes?” Jack drew out the syllables just to irritate the guard.

The door buzzed and Jack swung it open, walking into the small lobby adored with leather chairs and a modest chandelier. If chandeliers could be modest.

The guard pointed towards the elevator, “top floor.”

The elevator door opened and Jack did an animated two-step as he boarded. The golden doors shut and Jack was stuck staring at his own reflection. After a few seconds of the whirring of the elevator engine he remarked, “quiet” and started signing some elevator music. 

The elevator stopped at the fifth floor and the doors opened into a small hallway. A leather chair and a small table with a lamp on crowded the small space. A large door with a gold number five on it marked the entry way into Bruce’s castle. Jack looked around the confined space and then back at the number.

“Just in case someone gets lost, I guess,” he smirked and knocked twice on the five.

The door opened. Bruce stood in pajama bottoms, with a towel around his neck. He must have just gotten out of the shower; beads of moisture were clung to his skin. _Thank heaven for little boys..._

“What do you want, Napier?” Bruce's voice sounded aggravated but Jack didn't miss the amusement in his expression.

“I have come to learn more about you as per our last conversation that was so rudely interrupted by a Gothic Lolita,” Jack said, leaning against the doorway so he could peer into the apartment beyond. Hardwood floors lead into a large sitting room with an oversize TV and there was a door to the left, the bedroom perhaps? Jack smiled at the thought.

“I'm busy,” Bruce crossed his arms. _Ugh oh, getting defensive_ , thought Jack.

“There is a party. I have to be there and I thought it may be a bit more tolerable with someone I could actually talk to,” said Jack.

Bruce looked at him expressionless.

“I should add it is not going to be with your typical crowd,” Bruce tensed at Jack’s “typical crowd” comment and he knew he had poked the right button.

“My typical crowd?”

“Yeah you know, the gifted ones who reside in this over embellished mausoleum,” said Jack, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear.

“Did you come here just to insult me?”

Jack moved from where he was leaning on the door frame and stood in front of Bruce.

“No I came here to point out how stupid it is you spend all of your time alone in your room in a apartment filled with people who don't understand you and you don't understand,” Jack paused.

“Only to ask me to a party filled with people you don't understand and who don't understand you?”

A smile spread across Jack's face, “exactly.”

Jack couldn't help but laugh, Bruce had got him at his own game. Bruce chuckled softly and took a deep breath before opening the door and standing aside.

“Come in,” he said.


	6. Chapter 6

Jack got pulled away from Bruce to do business as soon as they had entered the party. Bruce sat on one of the faded sofas against the wall and watched Jack work. He didn’t speak to many of them Bruce could see it by the way he kept his distance and the annoyance that crept onto his face when he thought no one was looking. Jack would make small talk to some, but only after they had provided payment.   
  
Bruce talked to a few people as they cycled on and off the sofa, most didn't know who he was. The anonymity was refreshing, a change from the constant barrage of questions and empty pleasantries he was forced to share with Adrian Belzer and the rest of the upper crust. An hour or so had past when a brunette sat next to him, handing him a beer. She introduced herself and said she thought he looked thirsty. The side of Bruce's mouth quirked, a little direct but still – she seemed harmless enough.   
  
After a few minutes of tedious small talk, the brunette was telling him how much quieter it was at her place when he felt Jack’s hand on his arm.  
  
“It’s too crowded to do business in the open here,” Jack said with a thinly veiled sneer at the girl next to Bruce.  
  
He tugged Bruce up from the couch and guided him to an empty bedroom on the second floor.   
  
They sat playing a game of two-man poker, which seemed more like an excuse to occupy their hands than anything else while they talked. Bruce glanced up from his losing hand at Jack, who was worrying the corner of his lip with his teeth while rearranging the cards in his hand. He looked different than he had the first two times they had run into each other.   
  
On a detour to Jack's dorm room before the party, Jack changed into a faded charcoal jean blazer over a blue t shirt with jeans and a faded black pair of Converse All-stars.  The tip of Jack’s sneaker was tapping against the twin bed at his back. Bruce was sitting in a similar fashion, in between the two twin beds on the floor. Bruce looked at the faded scar on Jack’s collarbone and thought about the other scars he spotted on Jack's torso as he changed. He wanted to ask how he got them. But Bruce knew how much he hated people poking in his personal life and he figured Jack would be the same. His interactions with clients tonight proved it. He played his cards close to his chest.  
  
“So... have you?”  
  
 He looked up at Jack and recalled their previous conversation about Jack's profession; leading obviously up to the question of whether Bruce had ever dabbled in illicit substances.   
  
“Nothing more than a joint with some friends while I was in Europe.”  
  
Bruce hated the way weed had stripped away much of his control. Leaving him vulnerable to the seething emotions he tried to push away for so long until he was grasping out for something real, for someone real...  
  
Bruce laid down two cards and retrieved two more from the stack between them, trying to shake off thoughts of that night.   
  
“You're not going to ask me the same?”  
  
Jack looked at him with amusement.   
  
“I don't really have to, do I?”  
  
Jack feigned a hurt expression, “Really?”  
  
It felt odd to Bruce that Jack took such a thing so lightly, “Am I wrong?”  
  
“Well no, not really.”   
  
Jack paused, putting his cards down so he could look directly at Bruce.   
  
“My parents always taught me that if you want to be a good dealer you shouldn't be afraid of the stuff you're dealing. So have I tried pretty much everything? Yes. Do I use everything? No. Pot sometimes, speed for those all-nighters and that's about it. Anything else and you're risking serious addiction, which would be just fatal to my career.”   
  
“Your parents?” Bruce put his cards down, they weren't really playing anyways.  
  
“Yes. I'm afraid the apple doesn't fall very far from the tree, “Jack shuffled the discarded cards on the ground with his index finger.  
  
“Your parents...”  
  
The door slammed open and two girls dressed in glittery tops came stumbling in, laughing, most likely, about some stale joke.   
  
“J.J., can Marley and I have some candy?” One of the girls stumbled towards Jack, handing him a wad of bills.  
  
Jack got to his feet and studied the girl in front of him. He flicked through the bills in his hand, withdrew a green packet out of his pocket and gave it to her, along with some money from the stack.   
  
“Hey! Hey! This isn’t what I wanted!” the girl shouted at Jack and her friend looked like she was hearing nails against a chalkboard.   
  
“Listen. Neither of you look like you could handle that right now and dead customers are bad for business,” said Jack, shooing the girls to the door.   
  
“You fucker! I know what I'm doing.” The girl tried to swing at Jack as he corralled her and her friend towards the door.   
  
“Amy let's just go. Stop shouting, Jesus.” Marley grabbed Amy by the arm and dragged her out of the room. The door slammed behind them and Jack settled back onto the floor across from Bruce. He laughed, shaking his head at the girls as if they had been kids begging for actual candy; not druggies looking for their next fix.  His expression became serious when his attention turned to Bruce.   
  
“Before you ask anything else, there is something you should know. First, I don’t talk about my life outside the business to anyone but for you I’ll make an exception. Second, I believe in equivalent exchange. Since I hate talking about my parents I'd ask for a topic that would be equally as painful for you to discuss. So I'll tell you about my parents if you tell me about yours.”   
  
Bruce tapped the bottom of his empty beer bottle on the floor. Sounds from the night of his parent’s death echoed through his mind.   
  
Most of the night they had been discussing things that didn't go this deep. But the second things cut past the surface Jack felt the need to challenged Bruce. But Bruce understood Jack's intentions. You couldn't give something like that without expecting to get something in return. Better than most empty conversations he was a part of where neither party was expected to do anything to further the conversation. Even still, his parents were not something he talked about to anyone, not even Alfred.  
  
Bruce shrugged his shoulders in defeat, “Point taken.”  
  
“But you did get high in Amsterdam, so it is safe for me to assume you're not a mamma's boy,” Jack laughed and moved the conversation away from their parents.   
  
“And almost got arrested for illegal street racing in Japan,” Bruce said.   
  
Jack leaned forward eagerly when the bedroom door flew open. A boy from downstairs burst in, winded and sweating, “Get out Jack, cops are headed our way.”  
  
Jack and Bruce leaped to their feet. Jack threw Bruce a look of disappointment, “Just when we were about to get into your run in with the law.”  
  
“Down the hall to the left, there’s a fire escape,” the messenger boy pointed the way for Jack.   
  
Jack ran out into the hallway, amidst a commotion of people fleeing the party with Bruce close behind.   
  
“Ha ha ha! Now this is what I call a party!” Jack laughed as he turned to Bruce, “Come on.”  
  
Bruce dodged people as he followed Jack down the hallway and out a window onto the fire escape. Bruce could hear the noise of sirens in the distance as they descended the rusty ladder. He followed Jack through a gap in the hedge that spilled them into some kid’s sandbox in someone’s back yard. They passed through two more hedges before spilling exiting the street that lead to Bruce's apartment.   
  
They finally stopped in front of Bruce's apartment, both out of breath. Bruce ran the entire time, thinking there was some sort of need but as soon as he saw his apartment in sight he knew it was just one of Jack's games.   
  
Standing in the yellow glow of the building's lights Bruce glanced over at Jack who was also breathing heavily, hands on his knees. Those five minutes they'd spent running from “the cops” was the most excitement he'd allowed himself to feel in a long time. He started to laugh out loud.   
  
“Jack, you're fucking crazy.”  
  
Jack's laughter joined his, “Well at least you're enjoying the ride.”  
  
Bruce stood and pulled his key card out to open the door, “I think I've had enough for one night.”  
  
Jack found himself leaning against one of the cement ash trays, the same place he had been earlier that evening.  
  
“I'll see you around, Wayne.”  
  
“I'm sure, Napier.”   
  
Bruce let the door swing shut behind him and walked to the elevator, unable to stop the grin spreading across his face. He turned to the entryway once more as he entered the elevators, only to see Jack offer him a small wave before running off into the night.   
  



	7. Chapter 7

Jack entered the Japanese restaurant trying to look apathetic. He followed Bruce there after the billionaire left his late afternoon Brit Lit lecture. However, he wanted to seem like he had just been struck by a craving for raw fish, instead of something much more… primitive. Chance meetings were always much more romantic anyway.

Jack walked past the greeter who scrambled to finish his greeting. He stood on his toes, craning his neck to scan the restaurant over the ornate privacy barriers separating the patrons from the entrance. Success! Bruce sat in a booth tucked in the corner of the minuscule restaurant. Jack tucked his hands in the pockets of his blazer and sauntered up to the sushi bar at the back of the restaurant beside Bruce’s table. 

“God, I'd love a plate of something that was just wiggling a few seconds ago, can you do that for me?” Jack said with sarcasm just loud enough for Bruce to hear. 

The man behind the counter looked confused as Jack's eyes roamed over the fish-filled case. He felt Bruce’s eyes on him and he knew the ruse had run its course. Bruce wore a half-smile as he tapped his chopsticks on the book in front of him. 

“Bruce. Wow, funny to meet you here,” Jack slid into the seat across from Bruce, not waiting for an invitation. Smile Jack, his father’s voice echoed in his head. He gave Bruce a toothy grin from across the table. 

“I was trying to study,” Bruce dog-eared a page of his book and put it aside. He plucked another slice of something Jack couldn't recognize off of his plate and popped it into his mouth. 

“Ahh, you have the rest of your life to study,” said Jack, eying the multicolored slabs on Bruce's plate,  
“Let's eat some uncooked fish.” 

Jack snatched a slice off the plate before Bruce could protest. He put it in his mouth and tilted his head to the side while he enjoyed the texture, not as bad as he thought it would be. 

“We can see who gets food poisoning first. It will be like Russian roulette, only with fish.” 

Jack wasn't quite sure if he was pissing Bruce off. The billionaire hadn't said anything since he put his book aside. He was a hard man to read, but that was why Jack followed Bruce here, to continue his exploration of the mind of one surprisingly complicated boy-billionaire. 

“Well, I guess we should get more sushi,” Bruce motioned to the waiter. Jack did a little victory dance inside his head as Bruce rattled off an order filled with items Jack couldn't recognize. Now he could finally get the question answered that had been making his brain move like a pinball since Saturday. 

The waiter left and Jack folded his hands on the table, continuing his his best Cheshire Cat grin assault against Bruce. Dad was right; his smile was the key to getting what he wanted.

“So, tell me about Japan.”

Bruce’s smile partially hid behind his water glass as he took a sip. 

“I had a funny feeling that little conversation would be coming back to haunt me.”

“Boo!” Jack flung his hands up for dramatic effect. A few patrons in the restaurant jumped in their seats and looked in Jack’s direction. Bruce gave them a quick apologetic look.

Jack leaned forward and lowered his voice, “So... you were in Japan, you and some of your rich friends got bored and decided to buy cars... then what?”

Bruce laughed, “Not exactly.”

Jack listened intently as Bruce told him about his escape after boarding school. One person in his class was from a wealthy family in Japan. They went to his house on their tour around the world and away from reality. The Japanese kid had some cars. Nice cars from what Bruce was saying. They took them up to a famous mountain road so he could teach Bruce how to drive. Bruce went a little too fast down a mountain pass, almost wrecking a cop car. It was really exciting stuff. Far better than what Jack could have ever imagined. 

“I was lucky Gin was a good driver. Those cops chased us for a long time,” Bruce moved his hands out of the way as the waiter put two plates of those slabs of fish and seaweed rolls in front of them. Jack wondered if he really would get food poisoning. 

Jack opened up the packet of chopsticks and eyed the instructions on the back. 

“Have you ever used chopsticks before?”

“No, but I doubt it can be that hard. I mean kids can do it, right?” Jack held his hand just like the picture showed. His first attempt to pick up a roll from the plate resulted in the two sticks twisting in different directions, sending the sushi flying across the table. 

Bruce laughed, as he put a piece in his mouth. 

“Hey, that one was still alive,” Jack put the chopsticks down and grabbed a roll with his fingers, “Now I know why everyone in Asia is so skinny. Those things are faulty.”

“I agree. Thousands of years of use just nullified by your flying California roll,” Bruce laughed as he snatched of another roll from the plate with precision. 

They were silent as Jack ate an assortment of fish from the plate. Not bad for something freshly dead. Perhaps fish was like meat, better raw. 

“Now, it's your turn.”

Jack looked up to see Bruce, his chin perched above folded hands, eyes intently focused on him.

“Hn?” Jack questioned mid-chew.

“I told you about my run in with the law, now you tell me. Quid pro quo.” 

Jack chewed as he ran through several stories in his head. He had never been arrested but there had been many close calls, especially in the beginning. His parent's really hadn't taught him that much about selling. They were into more of a “throw you in the water and see if you could swim” teaching style. 

“Well - right when I first started dealing at sixteen I came the closest to getting arrested I ever have in my life.”

Jack paused recalling that night. 

“The first thing you need to understand is that the competition for customers can be pretty ruthless. What they say is true; there is no honor among thieves.”

He leaned back in the red pleated booth, loosely draping his left leg over his right knee before continuing. 

“I got some customers at one end of town. I was a ‘natural’ my parents said. Mom said it was my smile. ‘A genuine smile will let people know there is nothing to be afraid of,’ she use to say. Anyways this little parasite was mad because I had gotten his customers. It was his fault really; you can't think you'll keep customers if you're giving out poor quality product. One of the first things my dad taught me, if you're going to cut it, keep it safe for the user. Dead people are bad for business.”

Bruce had stopped eating and was now focused on him. Jack had to admit he appreciated that he didn't see pity behind Bruce's eyes when he told Bruce about his parents. He had chosen this life. What he hated was someone's sympathy for a choice that was, quite frankly, the best one available to him. 

“See, back then I would hang out of a local 24 hour mini-mart with a backpack, looking like a kid who was waiting for his parents to pick him up. So what does that little nark do? Calls the cops on me. The quickest way to get me off of his beat.”

Jack laughed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. 

“Pretty juvenile for someone twice my age at the time, don't you think? Anyways, I see the cop pull up and I play it cool. He starts asking me what I'm doing there and my heart starts to pound. He's a seasoned cop, I'm an amateur dealer – I know he could see it. Then he asks to see my bag. I was stupid. You never put your stuff on your person unless you're making a quick deal. But, as I said, I was green. I try to tell him the things my parents told me; that he had no right to search me without reason...that usual civil liberties bullshit.” 

Bruce was riveted, Jack could see it in the way he leaned towards him, like he didn’t want to miss a word.

“He reached for my bag and I ran. He chased me...god…,” Jack paused to remember, “for at least two miles. He almost caught me a handful of times. I've never ran so hard and so fast in my entire life. I hid in a dumpster behind some business for three hours. I was too scared to leave. My entire body felt paralyzed, like the will to survive. I didn't get home until after midnight.”

“Did they ever find out who you were?” Bruce spoke and it sounded as if he hadn’t taken a breath for the entire story. 

“No... I really don't know why not. I'd been working the front of that store for weeks. I learned a lot from that night. Never went back to that store...”

Jack drifted off remembering when he got home that night. His parents had been furious. If he got caught the cops would surely trace it back to them. The Napiers depended on a squeaky clean outward appearance to keep the suspicions at bay. Jack moved his hand to absently rub his side, the sting of the iron on his skin burning through his memory. 

“Jack?” 

Bruce looked at him from across the table with genuine concern in his eyes. Jack’s stomach twisted with contempt. He didn't need concern. Plus he hated the ache he just felt when he identified the feeling behind Bruce's eyes. He smiled again, brushing the seriousness of the moment away with the wave of his hand. 

“Just drifting down memory lane.”

Bruce looked at the empty plates in front of them and Jack knew he was going to leave. 

“Well I've got to go do some actual studying,” Bruce said, leaving a wad of twenties on the table. 

Jack did the math in his head and reached into his pocket, “I can cover some of that.”

Bruce smiled at him as he slid on a black leather jacket and picked his books up from the table, “you can catch the bill next time.”

 _Next time?_ Jack smiled at the thought, following Bruce to the exit, “Alright. But next time I choose where we eat.”

“Deal.”

The chimes on the door signaled the greeter to shout a farewell to them Jack didn't care about. He and Bruce stood under a streetlight in front of the restaurant. The light created a yellow circle around them, separating them from the darkness. They stood close, Jack noted, both needing to stand in the circle of light to see or both wanting to be close.... he hoped it was the latter. 

There was a pause, it was simple and small. Just enough for Jack to hear the rustling of leaves being blown across the sidewalk and the distant rumble of a car engine. A pause aching to be filled with action. A moment both of the men were familiar with.

“Wednesday, same time?” Bruce's voice sounded soft in the night air. 

“Meet you in front of your apartment,” Jack smiled his hands in his pockets. He intentionally tipped forward slightly, before rocking back on his heels and turning from Bruce. He started to walk in the opposite direction, sending a backward wave in Bruce's direction. 

“Later Bruce.”

“See you, Jack.”


	8. Chapter 8

Bruce sprinted across the campus towards his apartment; the meeting with his law professor after class had gone on longer than he planned. Of course Professor Stepkinski only wanted to speak with Bruce about the encounters he'd had with Bruce's father when he was a boy studying at Princeton. Meeting one of his father's old friends was a little unsettling at first, but after a few minutes, Bruce was pulled into the conversation. Stepkinski only knew Thomas Wayne by proxy but it was nice to hear memories of his father that didn't remind him of the smell of a cold Gotham alley and freshly splattered blood.  
  
He entered his apartment building and walked towards the elevator, avoiding Belzer’s glare as he exited the ground floor cafe. Belzer tried to get his attention but Bruce walked past him and willed the elevator doors to shut as quickly as possible. Thankfully, the cast still inhibited Belzer’s movements, the door shut on Belzer before he could catch up with Bruce.  
  
 _Thank God,_ Bruce didn't have time to deal with Belzer at the moment. Someone had apparently seen Jack and him eating on Monday and word had gotten back to the intolerable twit.  Belzer decided to go the most immature route possible, reminding Bruce what a loser Jack was and cautioning against hanging out with him. He had even gone so far as to call Jack a “faggot.”  
  
The elevator doors opened and Bruce walked through the entryway and into his apartment. He deposited his books on the counter top and went into his bedroom. Belzer’s insult still in the front of his mind.  
  
Jack's initial comments in the courtyard and at the party had given Bruce some insight into his fluid sexual preferences.  He never had a problem with people's lifestyle choices. What he hated was those who decided to hurt people because they disagreed with the way others lived.  
  
Bruce stripped off the dress shirt he had worn all day, and pulled on a rugby shirt he’d gotten on his last trip to London.  
  
He didn't care Jack might be gay. Bruce thought he was overanalyzing the situation; Jack hadn't even come out and said anything directly. He had enough common sense that he didn't give into that “gay by proxy” mentality obviously plaguing Belzer.  
  
Bruce checked his watch and glanced out the window for Jack. Sure enough, Bruce could see Jack making his towards the apartment. Thankfully, he wasn't the only one who was late. Bruce turned from the window and grabbed the half-finished bottle of water by his bed.  
  
The memory of Monday flooded back into his mind. Not the conversation, or the meal, but—after.  
  
Bruce leaned against the counter, his thoughts stopping him in his tracks.  
  
That moment, under the lights; Jack tipped forward, bringing him closer to Bruce for just a moment. The stillness of the night surrounded them and seemed to slow the movement down. Bruce hadn't moved his eyes had flicked down Jack's lips for a moment. As quickly as it happened, it had ended, and Jack walking away, with a Bruce a casual goodbye.    
  
Looking at Jack's lips. _Why did I do that?_ Bruce thought. His subconscious answered, perhaps, because the moment was like another you experienced earlier in your life.  
  
Another memory started in his head. Nighttime under a streetlight, it was all the same, except the silence was replaced by the thumping of music. The muted New Jersey architecture was replaced with gothic facades. The clamor of a riotous festival in the background. Tears about the past, tears about the future. Lips promising just tonight....  
  
Bruce threw the empty bottle at the wall and cursed. He had to leave the past behind and not let it affect him now. He was just a little strung out about Monday night because it brought back memories. Jack hadn’t meant anything by it.  
  
 _Jack!_ He had been lost in his thoughts and forgotten about his friend waiting for him.  
  
Bruce cursed again as he grabbed his leather jacket and ran for the elevator.  He got to the bottom floor only to find Jack arguing with the doorman to let him inside the building. Bruce flicked his eyes at the portly man sitting at the reception desk.  
  
“Mr. Wayne, I was told by Mr. Belzer that this man is not allowed on this property.”  
  
Bruce felt anger rise in him, and he fought to keep it out of his voice, “Mr. Belzer has misinformed you. That man is a good friend of mine and is allowed up to my apartment whenever he'd like. If I am not home you have my permission to furnish him with a key.”  
  
Perhaps he took that a little far. He didn't really know Jack all that well yet. But he had just given him free reign over his apartment. Well Jack didn't know, thought Bruce.  
  
“Awww Brucie, I didn't know you cared.” Jack's laughter came over the intercom. The doorman had held the intercom button down as Bruce spoke to him.  
  
Bruce walked toward the door shaking his head with a grin on his face.  
  
“I was just making sure you weren't cast out into the cold waiting for me if I'm ever late again,” Bruce said as he opened the door and walked out into the chilled fall air.  
  
“I was waiting for you to brandish a sword and storm the castle,” Jack laughed as they walked towards the street.  
  
Bruce sighed, trying not to picture who was supposed to be the damsel in distress in that scenario.  
  
“So where are we going?”  
  
Jack hailed a cab, “Someplace quiet with good food. They cook it there; I hope you aren't too disappointed.”  
  
Bruce laughed as a taxi pulled up and they slid into the backseat.  
  
“Where ya headin?” the driver asked in a voice that sounded like tobacco.  
  
“Knuckles,” Jack replied leaning back in the seat.  
  
Bruce saw the drivers inspecting them through the rear view mirror. His face warmed with recognition, “Mr. J, how the heck are ya?”  
  
Jack didn’t look surprised that the cabbie knew him and offered a half-hearted shrug, “Same shit, different day Ed.”  
  
The driver did a strange a noise somewhere between a laugh and a cough, “I hear ya. Who's your friend?”  
  
Bruce spoke up from the backseat, “Bruce.”  
  
Ed laughed at the name when they stopped at a set of lights, “I'm assuming you’re giving him a bit of a culture lesson, Mr. J?”  
  
 _Culture lesson?_ Bruce looked at Jack out of the corner of his eye.    
  
Jack laughed, “No. Just in need of a place where we can get good food without the Princeton crowd breathing down my neck.”  
  
“I hear ya. I picked up a whole cab-full of those drunken dollar signs a few nights ago. One of ‘em even puked in my cab. The little fuckers didn't even give me a tip,” Ed turned down a street and Bruce noticed the architecture change.  They had gone into more of a residential area of town, off the main drag. Several streets passed before the cab pulled up in front of an apartment building. A large red door marked the only entryway into the first floor of the building, above it hung a neon sign with the word Knuckles.  
  
“Here ya go,” Jack slid the fare and then some through the hole in the Plexiglas separating them.  
  
Bruce got out and walked around the back of the cab. He glanced in through the back window to see Jack slipping a green packet through the window. Bruce still felt uneasy with seeing Jack conduct business so he turned away and stepped up on the curb. He still wasn't sure how he felt about hanging around with someone who could make him an accessory to a crime.  
  
Jack stepped out of the cab and stood next to him as it pulled away. He turned to Bruce, “I don't know about you but I could eat a moose.”  
  
Jack walked towards the door and Bruce followed. The door opened, revealing a moderately sized bar with an interesting decor of a black tiled floor and blood red walls. Bruce noted the many stains along the floor, everything from gum to a freshly spilled beer. To his left were two pool tables and a jukebox pumping out muted contemporary rock. To his right were a few tables and a long bar, spreading halfway across the back wall.  
  
It only took a second for the smell of smoke to accost him. There were only two other people in the bar, watching football on the old TV by the pool tables. Bruce noticed they weren't smoking and figured the walls must have just soaked in the smell after years of operation. Everything looked old in here; some of the chairs were actually duct-taped together.    
  
Bruce followed Jack to the bar at the back wall. They only sat there for a few seconds before a large Hispanic man entered from the back and walked behind the bar. He wore an apron that had just as many stains as the floor covered his casual clothes.  
  
His face was tanned and had a weathered, angry appearance but it pulled into a smile as he saw Jack. A large black mustache fluttered as he greeted them with a thick Hispanic accent, “Jack, what brings you back so soon?”  
  
“Just here for food,” Jack shook hands with the man across the scratched bar-top.  
  
Jack turned to Bruce, “This is my friend, Bruce.”  
  
Bruce could feel the man sizing him up before he extended his hand with a smile, “César. Good to meet you, Bruce. You sure pick interesting friends.”  
  
“Bah, stop flattering me and just give me the menu,” Jack laughed and took the two laminated menus César offered him, passing one to Bruce.  
  
Bruce looked at the menu, basic pub bar fare with a few Mexican dishes mixed in. His stomach growled, he really hoped the food was as good as Jack said. They ordered beers and hamburgers and César disappeared into the back room.  
  
“So, what do you think?”  
  
Bruce looked away from the TV above the pool table to see Jack taking a sip of his beer with a grin on his face.  
  
Bruce laughed, “I have been to Amsterdam you know. So if you're looking to shock me, you'd have to work a little harder than this.”  
  
Jack tapped himself on the head, “Oh yeah. But I really didn't care what you thought of the place. Wait until you try the food.”  
  
“How did you find this place?”  
  
Jack leaned in, “First year on campus my main source of material ran dry. It took me a while to track down someone else reliable. I happened to stumble, literally, by accident into César's place. It was the beginning of a wonderful friendship.”       
  
“I have to admit I'm kind of surprised you're not angry for me bringing you to what equates to a glorified drug den,” Jack swiveled his chair so he was facing Bruce.  
  
Bruce had to admit he was surprised too. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, trying to calm the thoughts creeping into his mind. Since his parents death he had become more of a risk taker. Like proving he had no fear would somehow make the fact that it had been that fear that stopped him from saving their lives somehow permissible.  
  
Maybe that's why he found himself hanging out with someone like Jack, to take risks and prove to himself that he wasn't afraid. Afraid of what though? Jack's profession, his crazy behavior, or something else...  
  
“Planet earth calling Bruce, your dinner has arrived,” Jack spoke through his hands to mimic the sound of an intercom.  
  
Bruce wiped the thoughts from his mind with a sip of beer before turning to the hamburger in front of him. He bit in and found, like this bar, not everything was as it seemed. Jack was right, the hamburger was delicious. A noise of approval must have escaped his lips because César was standing in front of him laughing when he surfaced from the next mind-tingling bite.     
  
“Yeah my chickita makes a damn good hamburger, eh?”  
  
Bruce swallowed, “Yes, this is delicious.”  
  
A short round Hispanic woman in an apron came out of the back, asking César something in Spanish. César laughed and smiled at her, “I was just telling them you make a good hamburger.”  
  
“Holã Jack. César did not tell me you were here,” the woman reached across the counter and patted Jack on the hand.  
  
“Amazing food as always Jaqui,” Jack turned to Bruce, “My friend is speechless.”  
  
Her brown eyes lit up as they turned to Bruce  
  
“Su Niño es muy guapo, son dos amantes?” said Jacqui glancing at Jack.  
  
“No, que son sólo amigos.” Jack answered with a laugh.  
  
Bruce could only make out a fraction of the conversation; “Your boy” was definitely in there.  
  
“I was actually going to complement you on the food. This is the best hamburger I've had in a long time.” Bruce shook Jaqui's hand across the counter.  
  
“Well you two are welcome back anytime,” Jaqui walked to the back door and exited with a wink in Jack's direction.  
  
César walked off to tend to some other customers who just came in to play a game of pool. Bruce took the opportunity to ask Jack what his conversation with Jaqui had been about.  
  
“Oh,” Jack looked at him sheepishly, “She was just asking if we were here _together_.”  
  
The emphasis Jack put on the word together left no question about what she had meant. Well, that answered the question about Jack's sexuality.  
  
“I told her we were just friends, of course.”  
  
“Yeah,” Bruce turned back to his burger unsure of how to proceed. He started to put things together in his mind. The few “chance” meetings they had didn’t really seem like chance now.  Was Jack trying to date him? What should he say now? Should he let him know he wasn't ok with that? How did he say that without sounding like a presumptive jerk?  
  
“Ah, I can see those wheels turning,” Jack said.  
  
“Yeah,” all other words were stripped from Bruce's vocabulary.  
  
Jack chuckled, sounding amused at Bruce's unease, “this is the part of the conversation where you ask me if I'm gay.”  
  
“Well...I... are you?”  
  
“No, not really. I'm not really all about tying people up in neat little boxes, although admittedly most fit there perfectly. I just enjoy whoever comes along at the moment, regardless of gender. Life is so much more interesting that way,” said Jack.  
  
“Well, I'm not...” Bruce turned away and nervously rubbed his thigh.  
  
“No, I didn't think so,” Jack cut him off, “And, although a blind man would admit you’re gorgeous, I  
never had any designs on you Bruce.”  
  
“I wasn't saying that.” Why was he so flustered by this conversation? Jack wouldn't be the first of Bruce's friends to live an alternative lifestyle. So why did he feel guilty, like he was lying to someone? Maybe because he was lying – kind of. But if he told Jack about that, Jack might get the wrong idea.  
  
“Well just in case you had a doubt,” Jack turned back to his hamburger and they finished their meals with the ambient noise of the bar filling the silence between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> su niño es muy guapo = your boy is very handsome  
> son dos amantes? = are you lovers?  
> no, que son sólo amigos = no, we are just friends


	9. Chapter 9

_“And, although a blind man would admit you’re gorgeous, I never had any designs on you Bruce.”_  
  
Of course, Jack had been lying. He had been following Bruce for days, since their first encounter. How could he resist? Napier had been fun and all but Bruce was such a perfect pawn.  All Jack wanted to do was to get close to Bruce. Study him, figure him out, and then fuck him until he couldn't walk straight. Speaking of which...  
  
Jack growled in frustration as the boy underneath him moaned. Jack punched the back of the boy's head. The boy twisted to hiss, “What the fuck was that for?”  
  
“If I wanted a conversation, I’d be plugging a girl,” Jack thrust in as hard as he could and saw the boy grimace in pain.    
  
“You want your nose candy? You're going to have to be a quiet little bitch.”  
  
After a few deals Jack grabbed the first twink he could find and pulled him into an empty bedroom. Unfortunately this one made too much noise; it was destroying his fantasy.   
  
The one where Bruce underneath him, begging for his cock. Bruce's eyes were hazy with lust and Jack's hands sliding down his sides.   
  
Jack grabbed the hips of the boy in front of him; slamming deep before pulling out and ramming it back in again. He didn’t care if he hurt him; he needed the intensity.   
  
He was sucking Bruce's cock now.  The billionaire's neck was thrown back and he was breathing out incoherent words of encouragement for Jack.  
  
“Oh... yes... harder...Jack... please. Want....need you.”  
  
It was a beautiful sound. Jack's balls tightened at the thought, and he knew he was near the edge. He sped up the pace until the side of the bed was pounding against the wall hatching the beat of the music downstairs.   
  
“Please, Jack, please fuck me!” Bruce was screaming now, bent nearly in half.   
  
With a smirk of triumph, Jack slid into Bruce's entrance, slick with lube.  
  
“Fuck, Bruce!” Jack cried out. He steadied his breathing, gripping the boy's hips. After calming down Jack pulled out and cleaned himself off.   
  
“My name's not Bruce,” the boy pulled his pants up and slid off the bed.   
  
Jack pulled a green packet out of his jeans pocket and threw it at his latest conquest, “Yeah, I know.”  
  
The boy stared at Jack for a second and walked out of the room. Jack finished buttoning his pants and sat on the floor, slumped against the bed. He was still too overheated to put his t shirt on just yet. He took a sip from the half-empty bottle of beer he'd left on the floor.   
  
Jack was feeling truly buzzed now, only a six pack away from oblivion. He let his hands fall to the floor and tipped his head back to lean on the mattress. His eyes traced the constellations of glow-in-the dark stars scattered across the ceiling the empty beer bottle slipped from his hand and sounding like a broken wind chime as it rolled across the hardwood floor.   
  
Mixtures of emotions played hopscotch in his subconscious. It had been a long time since he had gotten this drunk. He really didn't enjoy the feeling. It made it difficult to conduct business and study the people around him. These parties were really like a gigantic observatory for him. When he wasn't selling, he would stand on the outskirts of the action and watch people. They were so superficial, so easy to read. Most people showed their hand before the dealer even finished handing out the cards. The groups of students housed within the university's walls were no different. Except for Bruce.   
  
On the outside Bruce appeared just as the others in his group. But Bruce held darkness inside of him Jack understood. Events in his past that lead him to isolate himself from the world and trust only himself. This caused Bruce to have an analytical mind, instead of an emotional one; much like Jack's.    
  
He knew as soon as he heard the billionaire would be attending the school he had to change up his game plan. Bruce hadn’t failed to disappoint since he did a very public metamorphosis from spoiled rich kid to public bad ass in Patterson’s class. But somewhere during the game, he let go of his objectivity and taken his eyes off the prize. In the past he waited months for a conquest. But there was always a definite direction to move in, Jack read his mark and played them based on their moves. Things with Bruce seemed to be going fine, better than fine. By the end of sushi Jack definitely made some progress into Bruce's Calvin Kleins. Even his lean forward in front of the restaurant to test Bruce's reaction had gone according to plan.  He noted how Bruce's eyes flickered to his lips; the thought of a kiss had been there. Even if it had only been for a moment. But then he had to go and fuck it up.  
  
Jack growled with frustration, dragging himself across the floor to the cooler of beer someone had attempted to give him as payment for some pot. He it but insisted they give him at least half the money too. He cracked one open and took a long pull from the bottle. He'd collect the rest tomorrow.   
  
He hated drinking. He had a plethora of different substances that would have made him happy or distracted his mind. Instead he chose the one thing that would keep him focused on the thought that made that quick fuck far less pleasurable than it could have been – Wayne. He grabbed a bottle because they were there; call it a crime of opportunity.   
  
Bruce's smile flashed in front of his eyes.   
  
Usually Jack's mind was comfortably scattered, but tonight it focused on Bruce. Jack never took a person to somewhere as connected to him as Knuckles. Usually, he would take his toys to places that would suit them. Something that would lull them into complacency and make it seem like Jack “knew” them. It wasn't hard to “know” them. They were all like a soap opera, dry and predictable. But he took Bruce somewhere he wanted to go. A place that would tell Bruce something about himself. It was Jack who showed his hand this time - a move that may have cost him everything.   
  
Jack threw an empty beer bottle and it shattered against the opposite wall. Jack studied the shards of brown glass stuck to the wall. Moisture seeped down the wallpaper and collected on the lip of the baseboard.   
  
The billionaire was something he'd never encountered before. Someone he could see as an equal and that made this game completely different from the others. Jack hadn't accounted for that. This carelessness was not like him. He didn't look too deeply at why. He didn't want to look deep; he didn't want to be deep. He just wanted to drown himself in beer until goddamn Bruce Wayne was out of his head.   
  
The bedroom door slammed open and a group of people charged into the room, probably called by the shattering of glass. A boy advanced and pointed at the stain left by the beer bottle on the wall.  
  
“What the fuck man? What the hell did you do to my room?” Jack eyed him. He was boiling over, blond hair disarrayed, but his sweater vest still intact. His body type along with his dusty hair and blue eyes made him perfect specimen for the third Reich. Jack saluted him appropriately, holding his arm at an angle from his body.   
  
“Sieg Heil!” Jack cackled and reached for his shirt.   
  
The boy stormed into the room, “Get the fuck out!”  
  
Jack pulled his shirt over his head. He chuckled in amusement at the boy’s anger as he slid on his shoes. He grabbed the rest of his beer and did a dramatic goose step out of the room. The boy fisted Jack's shirt as he walked past and turned Jack so he could yell directly at him, “Hey asshole. You better pay me for ruining my room.”  
  
Jack quickly released himself from the hold and slammed the boy’s head into the wall. He flicked a small switchblade out of his pocket and pushed it into the boy’s face.   
  
“Not tonight Fritz. Not tonight!” Jack waved the knife threateningly in front of the boy’s eyes.   
  
Jack sharply brought his knee up to Fritz's stomach and the boy fell to the floor. Jack turned to the rest of the crowd and spread his arms, “Who's next?”  
  
The crowd fled, leaving Jack to do a victory dance near the Fritz’s body. Jack stopped dancing and surveyed the situation. Many people had left after his brief encounter with the pathetic Fritz. Some looked at him wide-eyed from the doorways of other rooms. Sighing, Jack folded up his knife and put it back in his pocket.  This party was rapidly losing its appeal. I'm done with business here, Jack thought as he walked downstairs, through the crowd below and out the front door.    
  
Jack stumbled down the steps and stopped on the sidewalk, trying to decide where to go next. He stared up at the night sky as the fog from his breath clouded his vision. It was a beautiful night for a walk around campus. He looked at the cooler in his hand and grimaced. Beer would not and should not have been his first choice. This was all Bruce's fault. He opened the cooler and saw there were several left. _Hmm, oh well,_ Jack thought, _I am in blood stepped in so far that should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o’er._  
  
Jack opened another beer and started down the sidewalk, determined to forget Bruce by the time he turned the next corner.   
  



	10. Chapter 10

Bruce awoke feeling groggy. Sleep only came sporadically last night, punctuating the time he spent tossing and turning in between. He walked out to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of orange juice. His mind turned to the guilt that had gnawed at him last night.    
  
He shut his eyes and let the juice rest on his tongue, trying to focus on the flavor rather than the look in Jack's eyes after he turned down the invitation to another party. Putting the cup in the dishwasher Bruce tried, for the thousandth time, to rationalize _why_ he had done that. But all the reasons fell flat. He'd been avoiding Jack since their dinner at Knuckles two weeks ago.   
  
Bruce absently chewed on a knuckle, a bad habit from childhood, as he reentered his bedroom. He pulled on a t-shirt and sweatpants, praying a jog would clear his mind.   
  
On the other hand, Jack was fun to hang around with, sure, but he was too much like other friends he'd had in his past. This was only going to lead to trouble. He didn't need trouble right now.   
  
Bruce tightened the laces on his sneakers.   
  
_Besides, he doesn't seem like the kind of guy who stays with one person for long,_ Bruce thought as he pulled a gray sweatshirt over his head.  
  
 _He probably forgot about you already,_ the thought made him pause before he opened his front door. He passed off the unease in his stomach to skipping breakfast, nothing a run wouldn't fix.   
  
Bruce opened the door and heard the sound of glass ricocheting off the hallway.  He looked towards the elevator and saw Jack sleeping on the armchair in the hallway. Several beer bottles littered the end table Jack propped his feet on. A few had rolled on the floor sometime during the night. A few dried beer stains on the carpet let Bruce know Jack had been out there for a while.    
  
 _What is he doing here?_ Bruce thought as he stepped into the hallway, leaving the door open behind him.    
  
He walked around the chair and noticed Jack had a cut on his forehead, a line of dried blood down the side of his face. There wasn't any bruising, so it couldn't have been that bad. Still, Bruce knew he had to wake him up and make sure he was alright.   
  
Bruce felt guilty as he put his hand on Jack's arms to wake him. This was his fault; maybe he had been wrong about Jack. He had no reason to say no to Jack last night. Alfred's voice rang in his head; _friendship may be a hard journey because you have to open yourself to a person. But it is a task worth undertaking, Master Bruce._   
  
“Jack,” Bruce lightly shook the sleeping boy's arm. Jack shifted and he made a sound of displeasure. Bruce smiled, shaking harder. Jack open his left eye just enough to let light in.   
  
Jack put his hand to his head, “Bruce?”  
  
Jack's eyes opened slowly, “What are you doing in my room?”  
  
 “What are you doing in my entryway?”  
  
“Wha? I'm not,” Jack sat up carefully and took in his surroundings, “Ugh god.”  
  
Jack slouched forward in the chair, holding his head, “I don't know how I got here.”  
  
“Well that makes two of us,” Bruce slid his hand under Jack's arm and tugged slightly, “Come on. I'll give you some Advil.”    
  
Jack stood on uncertain footing and looked at Bruce through squinted eyes, “Thanks.”  
  
A beer bottle rolled under Jack’s feet as they started walking he stumbled forward, knocking Bruce into the wall. On instinct Bruce grabbed Jack to keep him from falling. Jack ended up pressed into Bruce's chest while Bruce was pinned against the wall. Their faces inches away, Bruce could still smell the beer on Jack's breath.   
  
“Sorry,” Jack pulled away, nervously tucking his hair behind his ear. Bruce followed him into the apartment, shutting the door behind them.   
  
“Did I interrupt your run?” Jack said as he sat at one of the barstools surrounding the granite counter.   
  
“It's no big deal,” Bruce said rummaging through his kitchen cabinets. He grabbed a bottle of water and a banana out of the fridge and put them on the counter in front of Jack.   
  
Bruce put two Advil in front of Jack and eyed him with concern, “How’s your head?”  
  
Jack was busy munching on the banana. “My head?”  
  
Bruce was back to the cabinets, looking for his first aid kit. He found it under the sink and walked over to sit on the stool next to Jack. Bruce dabbed at the wound with a cloth to remove the blood so he could see the damage underneath.   
  
“Yeah, you've got a cut there. Nothing bad I think. Let me just check it out to make sure,” Bruce leaned forward and used the penlight in his hand to illuminate the spot on Jack's head. It was a cut but nothing too bad, nothing lodged in the wound and no bad bruising around it.   
  
“I know this is a bad question given your current state but, how do you feel? Any blurred vision? Can you remember what happened last night?”  
  
Bruce started cleaning the cut with peroxide.   
  
“Yes Dr. Bruce I'm fine. I just fell...” Their eyes met and Jack smiled, “clumsy when drunk I guess.”  
  
Bruce handed him a band aid, “well if you start feeling dizzy or have blurred vision go to the hospital. That could mean you have a concussion.”  
  
“I didn't think you were a pre-med,” Jack finished the bottle of water and threw it in the trashcan next to him.   
  
“No, my dad was a doctor and I was always getting myself into trouble,” Bruce said as he put the kit under the sink. He turned back to Jack, thankful to have the barrier of the counter between them. Jack had only been his apartment for a few minutes but already they had been too close for Bruce's comfort - twice. Still, he felt somewhat responsible for Jack's current condition.   
  
“A doctor? Well that's interesting. My dad was a mechanic, or at least that's what his taxes said. The garage was just a front to sell drugs out of,” Jack said tossing the banana peel in the trash.   
  
Bruce slid a granola bar at Jack over the counter, “Keep eating.”  
  
“Fattening me up for the kill?” Jack laughed quietly, the hangover still subduing his personality.   
  
“No, just want to get you feeling better so I know you won't kill yourself in my shower,” Bruce said walking around the counter to stand near Jack.   
  
“Sho-wahr?” Jack's mouth was still filled with granola.   
  
“I'm going to go for a run but I'll leave some clothes for you to borrow in the bathroom. I won't be gone more than an hour. Maybe we could get lunch when I get back.”  
  
Jack stood and smiled, “Lead the way.”  
  
Bruce led Jack out of the kitchen, across the living room and through a door next to his bedroom. A large multi-head shower enclosed in glass was situated in the corner of the large room, next to a granite counter top with a dark blue sink. The color of the sink and the counter coordinated with the tile on the floor. Bruce gave Jack a brief rundown of the shower setup.   
  
“Don't worry, I think my poor man's shower works just the same as yours,” Jack laughed.   
  
Bruce walked into his room to grab a pair of jeans and a t-shirt for Jack. He went back into the bathroom to find that Jack had already stripped out of his shirt. Jack's back was towards him and he got another good look at the scars marring his skin before Jack turned to him.   
  
“Thanks,” Jack said, taking the clothes. He noticed the green shirt and chuckled, wiggling his finger at Bruce, “Oh you and your jokes about my drug dealing.”  
  
Bruce shook his head as he shut the bathroom door behind him.  He thought of the conversation he had with Jack in the kitchen as he entered the elevator a few moments later. It was the first time in a long time he talked to someone about his father. Bruce's sneakers echoed in the empty lobby before he opened the door and stepped into the frigid air.   
  
Those scars on Jack's back haunted his thoughts as he set out for his run. Jack's past and his past were both vacant of parents and filled with conflicts were forced to face and choices they didn't want to make.  
  



	11. Chapter 11

Jack was still celebrating his serendipitous drunken walk that landed him on Bruce's doorstep a week later. Since then they had fallen back into step. Moreover, they had seen more of each other in the past week than they had the entire month they'd known each other. They'd seen each other every day, whether it was meeting up for a meal, studying or talking in between classes. Jack considered Bruce an excellent study partner, able to stick to business when needed but Jack could always persuade him away from work when he needed a distraction.   
  
Bruce followed Jack without question when he showed up at his doorstep Saturday night with an invite to another party. He and Jack were so engrossed in their conversation Bruce didn't notice the house they entered until the smell hit him. A solid wall of body odor permeated the air and he couldn't help but recoil at the stench. This was not a building near campus. The house had to have been condemned. Bruce looked up at the cracked wooden staircase leading to a pitch black second floor. The railing was gone and the wallpaper ripped. It was hard to make out any colors of the room they were in with the black lights highlighting different parts of the room that had been slathered in multicolored neon paint.   The glow sticks on peoples' bodies created a blurred rainbow as they moved to the beat.   
  
“Ah the sweet smell of ravers in the morning,” Jack rubbed his hands together while looking around.   
  
They hadn't taken two steps from the doorway when a boy in neon mesh top and over sized sweatpants approached Jack. He looped his arms around Jack's neck and pushed their hips together.   
  
“Hey Jay, darlin'.”  
  
Jack looked down at the boy, knowing at some point during the past year they'd shared some time together but he couldn't quite remember when. Jack sneaked a look at Bruce who studying them through the corner of his eye.   
  
“I'm looking for some E Roll,” the boy started convulsing to the beat of the music.   
  
“Well, you know the going rate,” Jack was quickly losing interest as he saw a girl approaching Bruce out of the corner of his eye.   
  
The boy made a noise of disapproval and let go of Jack. He pulled a twenty out of his pocket with two fingers and flicked the money towards Jack. Jack threw a green packet at him, “Enjoy.”  
  
The boy picked a white tab out of the bag and studied the heart on the top, “Cute.”He put it on his tongue flipped jack off and walked away.  
  
Jack turned to Bruce who was talking with a girl who had glow-bracelets sticking out of an over sized ponytail on her head. Jack rolled his eyes, she can’t be this stupid.   
  
“No, I've never been to anything like this before,” Bruce had to shout so the girl next to him could understand. She recognized him from criminology class and struck up a conversation. Bruce was thankful for the distraction. He was trying to remember her name, he thought it might be Mary but he wasn't quite sure.   
  
He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Jack arching an eyebrow at him.   
  
“Am I interrupting something?”   
  
“Um, no. Jack she’s in my criminology class,” Bruce turned to the girl but felt Jack pulling on his arm. Jack roughly jerked him away from the door.   
  
“It's too loud to talk in here,” Jack shouted over the crowd.   
  
Bruce eyes bored holes into the back of Jack's head, _what was that all about?_ He allowed Jack to pull them halfway across the crowded living space-now-dance floor before he pulled back. Jack turned,   
  
“What?”  
  
“Well what the hell was that all about?”  
  
 _The skinny bitch was encroaching on my game,_ Jack thought but said, “Like I said, it was too loud to talk in there. If what's-her-name... wanted to join us, she could have.”  
  
Jack put on his best, sorry face and Bruce apparently bought it because he didn't argue anymore. Jack turned back to the room of dancers and rolled his eyes. _Yay let's all get high so we have a good excuse when we wake up next to some random person in the morning,_ Jack snorted, _that sounds like tons of fun_. Jack moved them through the room to a large door on the far wall. Actually, in the past that would have been the perfect night for Jack. Not the drug part, but the random partner part. _But now,_ Jack turned to look at Bruce who was half focusing on their journey and half acting as an amateur voyeur to the debauchery going on around them. _Now_...  
  
Jack reached the door and tried to turn the knob only to find it locked. A fact Bruce stated as Jack tried to open it.   
  
“Ah, no problem,” Jack pulled a knife out of his pocket and slid the blade through the doorframe. He pressed on the lock until he felt it click and the door give way.   
  
“Open sesame,” Jack said opening the door and stepping aside so Bruce could enter. Jack turned to a couple making out by the door and tugged on the boy’s shoulder. He swore and glared at Jack, “What?”   
  
“I'm the travel agent at this party,” Jack said flashing a packet of E in front of the boys face, “If anyone needs me, I'll be in here.”  
  
Bruce heard Jack speaking to someone as he entered the pitch-black room. He felt slightly apprehensive; the room probably was closed for a reason. Lights flicked on as Bruce heard the door close behind him. His eyes ached as they adjusted to the light.   
  
“Well, Bruce, I believe we've struck the mother load.”  
  
Bruce opened his eyes to see a large collection of furniture crowded inside the large room around a cracked leather couch and a TV.   
  
“I know the group of kids live in this shack. They must have moved everything in here to make room for the rave,” Jack wove his way past Bruce, intentionally brushing their hands together.   
  
Bruce started to make his way through the maze of furniture when he saw the two large cabinets filled with movies on the back wall. He immediately switched his destination from the television to the Mecca of movies, pushing past a broken coffee table and some decrepit looking bar stools. He stood in front of the large case filled with hundreds of movies in sort of a revered silence. Bruce had always been a movie buff; it wasn't something he shared with a lot of people. When he was a kid he'd stay up for hours watching old movies. In movies the bad guys always lost and justice wasn't out of reach for those who needed it. For a kid looking for answers to a system that had failed his parents, it was a great refuge.   
  
A whistle behind Bruce broke his thoughts.   
  
“Well, now I know why they locked the room,” Jack was behind him holding his arms out, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the show.”       
  
Bruce laughed as he started to scan the titles, “What do you want to watch?”  
  
Jack quirked his head and grinned, “Why Mr. Wayne are you suggesting we bust into someone's movie collection, hijack their TV and create some mayhem?”  
  
“Well everything except the mayhem part.”  
  
“Aw Brucie, I'm rubbing off on you,” Jack started pushing furniture out of the way, clearing a path to the couch. He turned back to Bruce and laughed, “I like it.”  
  
Bruce scanned the titles as he heard Jack displacing furniture with the occasional crash behind him. Of course, Jack had to add his own colorful commentary like “That was breakable?” or “Timberrr!” with every new smash. It wasn't the first time Bruce caught Jack talking to himself; he did it quite a bit while they studied together. Bruce grinned and wondered if Jack knew he even did it.   
  
Jack pushed a cheap lamp onto the floor with satisfaction as he finally cleared a path from the couch to the door. Even though he wanted time with Bruce, he still had to conduct business. He turned back to see Bruce's progression though the movies and bit his lip when he noticed the billionaire was bent over studying the titles on the bottom shelf. _Lead me into temptation_ , Jack thought as he sauntered up behind Bruce. It would be so easy to wrap his hands around those hips, throw him on the couch and drag those perfectly worn jeans down to Bruce's knees.  Jack felt his pants grow tight and slammed his hand into a chair to calm himself down.   
  
“So, what is the verdict?” Jack called through the pain. Perhaps he hit his hand _too_ hard.   
  
Bruce held up a VHS, “A classic.”  
  
The door slammed open and three neon painted people waltzed in. Jack recognized the boy and the girl from his earlier conversation with them before he entered the room.  
  
“Mr. Travel agent,” a boy with a white tank top and black jeans on waved to Jack, “I'd like to book a trip.” The boy could not stop laughing. Jack saw no humor in this pawn desecrating what had been, a very original joke.  Jack strode up to the group, hands in his pockets.  
  
“Where would you like to go?”  
  
He chanced a glance at Bruce who, thankfully, was absorbed in getting the TV to work.   
  
“To the stars,” the girl was tracing lines around her lover's jaw with her finger.   
  
Jack rifled through his pockets until he found what he was looking for. He took out the packet, “fifty bucks and the passport is all yours.”  
  
The kids looked a little lost at first but all dug into their pockets to find the cash. Jack took it and gladly sent the partiers on their way. They left the door a jar and the music from the outside poured in. Jack wanted to close it but, he wanted people to know where he was. Noise from the television turned Jack's attention back to Bruce. He was adjusting the volume on the medium sized television as some of the coming attractions played on the screen. Jack walked up and immediately noted that couch was no place to be sitting on. Several of the stains on it looked fresh.   
  
“Hey Jack, we're golden,” Bruce called out, his eyes still fixated on the television he moved to sit on the couch of doom. Jack shot forward and grabbed Bruce's sides to prevent him from sitting down.   
  
Bruce turned around in surprise, “Uh?”  
  
“Have you looked at that couch?”  
  
Bruce turned his head and saw that the leather was not only ripped but stained in several places, in colors he couldn't recognize. He let a noise of disgust escape his lips, “Gross. What are we going to do about this?”  
  
Jack was relishing in the fact his hands were still on Bruce's hips. Really, things were going better than he could have planned. A month ago he could have never taken Bruce to a place like this. But now here he was, laughing at a couch that clearly had several bodily fluids on it. Jack wasn't joking when he had said Bruce was coming down to his level. He meant it, and it excited him far more than he had expected.   
  
“Sheets?” Bruce's voice broke through Jack's thoughts as he wiggled out of Jack's grip. Bruce walked to a pile of furniture covered in a blue sheet. He pulled it off and several of the items underneath went tumbling to the floor. His eyes turned back to the television and he said, “Damn, it's starting,” with a panicked voice.   
  
Jack helped Bruce fold the sheet and threw it on the small couch before they settled in. After a few minutes Jack started putting the different scenes of the movie together.   
  
“Evil Dead,” Jack said flicking Bruce in the shoulder.   
  
“It's really cheesy but it's one of my favorites.”  
  
Jack clapped his hands together, “mine too.”He always loved the awesome badness that was B horror movies and was happy to find another level he could connect with Bruce on. The more common ground he had, the easier accomplishing his goal would be.   
  
“Bruce, this is the beginning of a wonderful friendship.”   
  
 “Well I feel more like I'm stuck with you than anything else.”  
  
Jack let out a laugh and turned back to the television, silently admitting Bruce was more right than he could ever suspect.   
  
About halfway through the movie people had started filtering into the room. Some wanted something from Jack and some just wanted a place to get away from the main venue of the party. Bruce was almost sure there was a couple in the corner having sex but he was too focused in on his current conversation with Jack to care.   
  
“Slasher movies– really Bruce?” Jack handed the boy next to him a white pill and shooed him away, “I mean they have their place but I'd expect so much more from you.”  
  
“What can I say? I really like the old classics. Texas Chainsaw Massacre was pretty scary.” A couple slid into the small space beside Bruce, lighting up a joint. He gave them an annoyed look and they held the joint out in front of him as if that would placate him into being ok with the fact they had squished him out of his space on the couch. He moved to give the couple room and sat Indian style, facing Jack who was dealing with another customer.   
  
Jack finished and turned to him, shaking a condescending finger, “Scary? Only how bad the acting was. I'd give you good money if you could show me a slasher film that creeped me out as much as the ending of Psycho.”  
  
Jack couldn't think of the last time he enjoyed a conversation this much. Well, that would have been the last time he and Bruce had talked...but that was just how it was with Bruce. It was interesting that although they had come from different places, they had so many similar interests. But that was Bruce Wayne for you, never predictable. Jack loved having to be on his toes in every conversation. He was also very pleased the couple he'd paid off with some free pot had done exactly what he wanted them to do, bring he and Bruce closer on the couch.   
  
“Well, I guess you have a point there. Cross-dressing is pretty scary,” Bruce said with a grin.   
  
Both men erupted into laughter.   
  
“But seriously Bruce, as educated as you are, you shouldn't engage in these pop-culture arguments with me,” Jack leaned back against the arm of the couch and shifted his foot slightly so it was touching Bruce's knee.    
  
Bruce crossed his arms, “Oh really?”  
  
The movie was still playing in the background, the music coming from the other room and the fragmented conversations of those around them created an interesting mix of noise in Bruce's head. He tried to block it out and focus on his conversation with Jack. He was happy they shared something in common and was subconsciously planning on the next movie they should watch...there were some really great Japanese horror films he knew Jack would love...  
  
“...and then alien babies jumped out of my car....”  
  
“What?” Bruce was confused by the snippet of conversation he just heard.   
  
It was Jack's turn to cross his arms, “You were not even listening to what I said.”  
  
“Sorry, I was thinking about some movies you may like.”  
  
Well, Jack couldn't fault Bruce for thinking about him – now could he.  
  
“I said you shouldn't argue with me about this stuff because while your parents were sending you to a fancy school, taking you on extravagant vacations and doting on you my parents left me with two baby sitters, the library and the television.”   
  
The distance sound of someone retching personified the feelings that welled up from the bottom of Bruce's stomach. He turned from Jack and put his feet on the floor. He didn't know what to say except for the truth.   
  
“My parents are dead. They were shot in front of me when I was eight years old.”   
  
Sirens and alarms sounded in Jack's mind. He saw the pieces falling off the game board and onto the floor. If he didn't play his hand right, he knew he wouldn't be able to pick them back up. He expected something dark in Bruce's past from their conversations but, not this. He wasn't sure how to approach this and he knew every second he remained quiet, the further Bruce got from him. He was not the kind of person who would like the musty silence after revealing this news Jack was sure Bruce was use to. Nor would he like a benign apology that would smack against him and then drop to the floor. _Think, Jack, think!_ This was the hardest part of any card game and Bruce had gone first, showing his hand. This left Jack in a very vulnerable position with only one move left, to show his in return. Even as he felt the words coming to his lips, Jack hated that he had to say this out loud.   
  
“My parents may have well have been dead. They had me for one reason, to fit in with the rest of the blue collar neighborhood they lived in so they weren't seen as the drug dealers they were. Everything they did was a lie. As soon as I could fend for myself I was left on my own.  Occasionally they’d take the right mixture to make them parents of the year and they would bother cooking me dinner. But after a few years I didn't care whether they came home at night or not and I sure as hell didn't care if they cared about me. From the few things you've said about your parents it sounded like they at least gave a shit about you.”    
  
The cards were out and now the omnipotent dealer would tell them who was going to double down and who was about to walk away from the table shit out of luck.   
  
Bruce let Jack's words sink in slowly. He had never had anyone respond to the story about his parents this way. Of course he had only told less than a handful of people in his entire life. At first he felt angry, clenching his fist and wondering what right Jack had to compare his situation to this. But then the fact that he was comparing his situation sunk in farther and Bruce saw what he was actually trying to say. As much as it hurt to admit, perhaps there were worse things than losing your parents at an early age.    
  
Bruce broke the silence, “I never talk about my parents to anyone.”  
  
“Ditto.”  
  
Jack was still unsure of the final verdict until he felt Bruce's hand lightly squeezing his knee in reassurance. There in that place that smelled like sweat, beer, and vomit Jack knew he had been dealt a winning hand.   
  



	12. Chapter 12

Bruce adjusted the overstuffed messenger bag on his shoulder as he walked past the large trees lining the walkway to his apartment building. Puffs of steam trailed from his mouth like he was chain smoking, he shivered and picked up the pace.  Walking to and from classes was getting to be more and more of a pain as the New Jersey temperature continued to decline. He couldn't help but laugh at the irony that the most exclusive apartment building on campus was such a distance away. There was a curbside valet shuttle service but Bruce would rather freeze in the cold than have someone drive him the few hundred feet to class. Only the most pompous of the “elite” would have the gall to do something like that. Bruce saw Belzer getting out of a car pulled up to the curb, as if the universe wanted to prove his point.    
  
The blond aristocrat looked annoyed as he barked into his cell phone, “it's green. You couldn't put it with her? Well get it in somehow. I'm not paying you to make mistakes.”  
  
Belzer slammed the phone shut and shoved it in his pocket. Bruce caught up to Belzer as he started walking towards the entrance to the building.   
  
“What’s wrong? The world not bending to your whim, Belzer?”   
  
Belzer turned and gave Bruce a look of superiority as he brushed his hair back, “nothing for a dumpster diver like you to be concerned with.”  
  
Bruce let out an exaggerated laugh as he pushed past Belzer and walked into the lobby.   
  
“You might want to watch out with who you associate with Bruce, it could get you into trouble.”  
  
Bruce rolled his eyes as the elevator doors as they opened, not wanting to grace Adrian's ego driven comment with a reply. Bruce stepped into the elevator and watched the doors close on Belzer and another one of his comments about Jack being a “fag.”   
  
Belzer's hatred of Jack boarded on irrational. Bruce wanted to ask Jack about it at the party on Saturday but he didn't want to ruin the great conversation they were having. He hadn't seen Jack since then; midterms were closing in and Bruce was busy organizing his work for the large projects the teachers were sure to assign in the upcoming weeks. Jack stopped by last night to invite him to a party but Bruce was too busy to go. Bruce tried to convince him to stay and study, but he seemed to have other plans.   
  
Bruce heard noises coming from his apartment as soon as he stepped out of the elevator. His senses on alert, he crept towards his door. He opened the door in one quick movement, hoping to have the element of surprise on whoever was inside.   
  
Bruce let out a growl of frustration as he saw jack lying on the large sofa in his living room, “Jack, you scared the shit out of me. I thought someone was breaking into my apartment.”  
  
“You, Bruce Wayne, are a liar and a fraud,” at any other time Bruce would have laughed but the casual tone Jack usually had was gone and replaced with a cold voice, thick with anger.   
  
Bruce shook his head in disbelief, trying to make sense of the harsh welcome.   
  
“You break into my apartment just to insult..,” Bruce's sentence was cut short as he tripped over a small pile of his things dropped in the middle of the living room floor.   
  
“You were the one who told the Bellman to let me in whenever I wanted.”  
  
Bruce was only half listening as he bent down to look at what was on the floor; movies, cds, and clothing – all things he'd lent to Jack.   
  
“Jack,” Bruce looked up at Jack from the floor, “what is going on?”  
  
Jack stood from the sofa and raised his left hand, which was clutching a maroon leather bound book.   
  
“Actually, I came here at first to surprise you. But then I found this,” The jovial smile Bruce had known for weeks was gone and replaced with hard lines of displeasure surrounding Jack's eyes and mouth.   
  
Bruce felt the ground drop out from under him as he recognized the book in Jack's hands – his journal.   
  
Bruce always thought it was a trivial task but writing his thoughts down helped him sort through them. But he knew he would never leave this out in the open. Not with what it said in it. His eyes flicked towards the locked shelving unit he kept his book in. The door was wide open, a careless act that Bruce would never commit.   
  
Now it was time for Bruce to get angry as he stood stepping over the pile to stand near the couch.   
  
“You went through my things?”  
  
“Well, Bruce, I was bored. You really dawdle after class ends. Nothing good on TV. But this,” Jack held the book up again, “this was far better entertainment than anything that electronic box could bring me.”  
  
“You have no right...”  
  
“May 5, 1997, Amsterdam,” Jack's voice cut him off as he read out loud from the book in front of him, “I have no idea what happened last night or should I say, more accurately why, what happened last night happened. I have never, not for a moment thought of a man in that way. But the group of us was standing on the sidelines watching as the Queensday parade rolled past. Mark's nagging finally pushed me to give in and try some of the special cookies he'd bought. I don't know what was in them. I was still reeling from seeing that man who looked like my father a few days before. I just wanted to forget.... bla bla bla...”  
  
“Stop,” Bruce felt paralyzed as his words were repeated back to him.  
  
“Let's cut to the good part shall we?’Suddenly a man was there, his hands slid around my waist. I don't know how long I'd been crying. I don't know what he said, only that it felt comforting. He kissed me and then it was like time fast forwarded. My memories from then on are just clips of touches, colors and movements. I woke up the next day naked beside him in some hotel on the outskirts of town. I just don't understand why I don't feel disgusted by this whole event or how this reflects on me. I need to understand, to make sense of this'...” Jack looked up from the book, “well then it's about four pages of oh why did I do that? Does this make me gay? Self searching drivel.”  
  
Bruce felt movement come back to him as soon as Jack stopped speaking. He took two strides forward and grabbed the book out of Jack's hand.   
  
Jack's smile made him clench his fist at his sides.   
  
“What's the matter, Bruce? Afraid because your dirty little secret is out?”  
  
“You had no right to do this. What are you even doing here? Get out!”  
  
“As I said I was here to surprise you but then I found that. That little piece of evidence that shown me everything you've told me is a lie,” Jack sidestepped Bruce and walked to the door.  
  
Bruce grabbed Jack’s arm as he passed, “nothing I told you was a lie.”  
  
“Oh I beg to differ. See, we had a bit of a ping-pong game going, you and I,” Jacks hands swung back and forth to imitate the game, “I'd say a truth and then you'd say a truth. It was working out very well. But there was something you left out – something you neglected to tell me.”  
  
“That was none of your business,” Bruce's hold went slack as he struggled inwardly with the entire situation. He was furious with Jack for snooping around his apartment. But at the same time, he couldn't fault Jack for being mad. That “game” Jack was referring to was the basis for their entire relationship. Whether Bruce wanted to admit it or not, he had broken the rules.    
  
“Time is money, as they say, and spending time with you has cost me far more than a few coins in my pocket. So there are your things,” Jack pulled away from Bruce's grasp, “don't come near me again.”  
  
Bruce watched as Jack turned and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. He walked over to the couch and sat down with a sigh.   
  
Jack was right. This...whatever it was between them had cost them both far too much. Bruce couldn't afford to be distracted by Jack anymore. With Jack he actually felt like he had a choice and maybe some control over his own life. That was a careless feeling he couldn't indulge in anymore. Their separation was inevitable; Bruce knew it was just a matter of time. Jack couldn’t even stay in class through an entire lecture or sleep with the same person twice. Had Jack’s friendship with him had been an experiment? The shock of what just happened and the memories they brought up left Bruce too exhausted to do anything but lay on his bed. Their friendship had been a distraction from what he had come there to do. He needed to focus on the task at hand and ignore the sick twinge Jack’s absence left in his stomach.   
  
Bruce woke the next morning feeling like the heaviness of the previous day was gone. He got ready thinking about his paper for his upcoming class and didn't let his thoughts rest on Jack for more than a second. The fine box he'd created around his feelings over the years surrounded him again and he felt secure in his numb apathy towards the world. He got ready for class and then grabbed a coffee at the cafe downstairs. He was miserable and blindly following in his father’s shadow - all was right with the world again.   
  
Bruce heard a female voice calling his name as he walked across the quad. He turned to see a girl he couldn't quite recognize several steps behind him. The girl quickly caught up and Bruce recognized her as she stood catching her breath. The girl from the party he went to weeks ago she looked different without the raver makeup on.  
  
“What can I do for you…?”   
  
“It’s Ellie, my name. Anyways - They've come to get Jack! They think his drugs might have caused it.”  
  
“What? Who’s coming for Jack?” Bruce felt uneasy when he saw the girls eyes widen with fear.   
  
“You don't know? Some girl ODed at a party this week. They said the drugs were bad and they're trying to find the source, “Ellie moved erratically as she told the story, “They’ve already pulled in a few people from campus for questioning and now they're in Jack's room, tearing it apart.”  
  
“What? They can't do that,” Bruce clenched his fist at his sides, _of course they could_. He just hoped they didn’t find anything.  
  
“Do you think that matters when some rich prick’s daughter is dead? They are doing it.  Jack isn't there now but when he gets back they're going to take him.”  
  
Bruce struggled between worrying about Jack's current situation and the residual anger he felt about Jack's actions yesterday.  
  
“He decided to deal, why should I care?”  
  
Ellie shook her head, “listen I've never liked him either but he's the only person on campus who wouldn't give you something laced with god-knows-what.”  
  
“Hmph, so this is about the drugs? You know...”  
  
Ellie cut him off, “fuck that! I thought you guys were friends. But if you are just going to let him hang then go to class, bury your nose in your books, and pretend this conversation never happened.”  
  
Ellie stormed off before he could say another word.   
  
Bruce stood there, stunned from the news. He thought about the past few weeks with Jack. He had never really had a friend who he connected with like he did with Jack. But the anger from last night kept creeping up in his mind. Then, though the blur of memories, wheels started to turn, and pieces in his mind were slowly brought together. Fragments of conversations he had with Jack jutted forward in his mind.   
  
Bruce remembered the time he wouldn't let those girls get more drugs, _“A dead customer is bad for business...”_  
  
Sitting next to him on the couch, being that honest with someone for the first time in a very long time about his parent's death.   
  
Laughing when they were studying; talking as they walked to class...the memories came rushing faster and faster. They all led up to one statement in Bruce's mind – Jack's actions last night didn't add up. Jack was a person who loved to jab at people to get information out of them. That was the fun of it for him. Just opening a book and getting it wasn't his style.   
  
Tuesday was two days ago. _Did Jack know about what happened yesterday? Why didn't he tell me?_ Bruce's mind went quiet as it read the answer on the surface of his heart.  
  
“You might want to watch out with who you associate with Bruce, it could get you into trouble.”  
  
Belzer's words made Bruce's world come to a sudden pause. Jack did know what was going on. That's why Jack paid an early visit to Bruce. That's why Jack looked so hard to find something to hurt Bruce with. Something that would push Bruce away – to keep him from getting involved.   
  
The coffee in Bruce's hand fell to the grass as another memory fired through his mind. Bruce didn't complete his thoughts before he turned and ran in the direction of Jack's dorm.   
  
Belzer! He had said something when he got out of the car the other day. _Putting something green with a girl, paying someone not to make mistakes._   
  
Everything was coming together in Bruce's mind now. He pushed through a group of students, breaking into a full run as he hit the sidewalk. In the distance he could see police cruisers parked in the driveway of Jack's building.   
  
Jack was going to go to jail and Bruce knew Belzer was behind it.   
  



	13. Chapter 13

Bruce was out of breath when he reached the driveway leading up to Jack's dorm building. There was already quite a crowd outside. Pieces of conversation floated up to Bruce as he wove through the crowd.   
  
“I heard this is the third guy they picked up.”  
  
“Well the girl who died was rich; so what do you expect? Mommy and daddy want answers,” Bruce noted the disdain in the speaker's voice. Anger chewed at his insides as he broke through the front of the crowd. He had to find Jack before the police did. He had to tell him that Belzer was setting him up.   
  
People came in from all sides of the campus, lining both sides of the driveway. Bruce scanned over nameless faces for several minutes. He sighed, Jack wouldn't be outside – he was smarter than that. One thing he knew about Jack - he wasn't scared of anything.   
  
Bruce walked towards the uniformed police officer at the door. The officer gave him a look and glanced at the picture in his hand before letting him pass. Bruce walked towards Jack's room on the other side of the building, quick enough to look late for class, but not fast enough to draw attention.    
  
Suddenly, a hand grabbed Bruce's arm tightly and his world was spinning. He was quickly pulled out of the hallway, through a door and into the stairway.   
  
Bruce was pushed up against the wall. Bruce’s eyes finally had a chance to focus on the person in front of him.   
  
“Jack!” he whispered.   
  
Jack's face looked different than it had last time they had spoken. Dark circles highlighted his green eyes and his hair was even more disheveled than usual. Jack didn't say anything; he just stared at Bruce like he was studying an animal at the zoo.   
  
Bruce grabbed Jack's shoulders and tried to shake him out of his trance, “Jack, you've got to get out of here. There are police everywhere.”  
  
“I know. I came for the free doughnuts,” Jack's lips curled up into that half smile that Bruce couldn’t help but mimic with his own mouth.   
  
“Jack, they're here for you. Don't you care?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Both boys stood in silence as the stale air around them pushed Jack's response deeper into Bruce's mind. Bruce let his head droop slightly and he looked at the scuffed wooden floor beneath his feet. The heat from Jack's skin radiated through his t shirt, making Bruce’s fingertips tingle. None of this made any sense. Why didn't he care? Jack must know it wasn't his stuff. Why didn't he want to fight?   
  
“Why do you care?” Jack still had that intensity in his eyes.  
  
“Because I know you didn't do this. Belzer, I overheard him saying something yesterday. I think he may be setting this whole thing up.”  
  
Jack let out a sharp laugh and shrugged out of Bruce's touch. He did a dramatic spin in the stairwell and sighed. He put his hands in his pockets and sat down on the step.   
  
“I guess the little prick has a different way of getting his rocks off now-a-days,” Jack pushed his hair out of his eyes and smiled up at Bruce.   
  
“What?” Bruce couldn't tell if Jack had just given him a clue as to why Belzer was going after him or if he was joking around.  
  
“Belzer and I; we engaged in the horizontal mambo a few times back last year. I think he's afraid I'll tell someone. But pissing me off really doesn't seem to be the right way to go about keeping me quiet...” Jack drifted off, scratching under his chin.   
  
Bruce squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his forehead, he should have guessed. Fragments of conversation coming from the hallway beyond the door reminded him why he was there.   
  
“Listen, that doesn't matter now. Adrian is framing you for that girls’ death. Come with me. I'll get some lawyers from my dad's company to help you out,” After saying those words Bruce realized that he wasn't quite sure if Wayne Enterprises legal department would be willing to touch something as unsavory as this, but it was worth trying.   
  
“Bruce, Bruce, Bruce,” Jack stood, “I don't want you to help me. I thought you got the point yesterday.”  
  
Bruce clenched his fist in frustration, “listen, if you go out there...if they take you away... you may never come back.”  
  
“How many times do I have to tell you that I have everything under control?”  
  
Jack moved towards the door and Bruce grabbed his arm in a panic.   
  
“Don't do this.”  
  
Jack turned back towards him with a look in his eyes Bruce had never seen before. Bruce let go of Jack's arm and stepped back. Jack's eyes, his face, his movements as he slowly advanced towards him; it was a mix of madness and heat Bruce couldn't help but be a little apprehensive of.   
  
“I'll ask you again, Bruce. Why do you care?”  
  
Bruce continued to retreat for two more steps before he was stopped by the cold, finished boards of the wall pressing against his back. Jack followed him, step for step until they were toe-to-toe.   
  
“I'm not going to let you go to jail for a crime you didn't commit.”  Bruce's words shook as they came out and he realized he was breathing heavy.   
  
Why was he reacting like this?  
  
“It doesn't add up. You get involved and someone finds out. There isn't enough money in the world to keep you from bad press. But yet you're willing to risk your good reputation on someone you only suspect is innocent,” Jack's breath had a hint of mint in it. Bruce remembered the pack of gum Jack had swiped from him a few nights ago. The two boys were goofing off in Bruce's room when wrestling ensued and Jack had pinned him down. Bruce felt then just like he did now, like he had just been dropped into the middle of a war zone; his senses over alert and his heart beating fast.   
  
“We're friends, Jack...” the response sounded weak even to Bruce’s ears.   
  
“Right,” Jack pushed away from the wall and turned towards the door, “I can't run from them. I'm not scared of them. And for what it's worth, I didn't do it. But I don't expect a corrupt system to listen to me. I have my own way of putting pressure on the right places. Don't you worry. I'll be back doping up the halls of this place in no time.”  
  
Jack started to push the door open slightly and paused, “But just in case...”  
  
Bruce didn't know how Jack moved from the door back to the spot he was standing so quickly. But in a breath Jack's lips were on his. Bruce was too stunned to react, creating a kiss that was two clenched mouths crushing against one another. Jack's lips started to soften, the now more malleable skin forming a delicate seal around Bruce's mouth.   
  
Bruce could hear the minuscule click of the second hand on his Rolex echo in the empty stairway. His eyes were closed and his lips were starting to part. Jack was kissing him and he was contemplating kissing back. His mind felt like a car caught in a slide during the wintertime -- careening out of control and not knowing which way to turn. Before he could make up his mind, Jack's lips were gone and the door was closing behind him.   
  
Thoughts tried to form in Bruce's mind but they couldn't articulate themselves over the static filling his brain. He was still in disbelief of what just happened. He would be lying if he said he didn't suspect it at least once during their time together. But he just never thought it would happen or that he...  
  
A loud scuffle in the hall brought Bruce back the present. He pushed open the door to see a police officer holding each of Jack's arms as he laughed at Belzer's body writhing around on the floor.   
  
“Ha! Ha! Adrian you can't take my fist as well as you took my cock but we can fix that as soon as I get out,” Jack shouted as the cops dragged him down the hallway. He wasn't making it easy on the officers, jumping and pulling from every angle. Putting on a show, as always.  
  
Bruce followed them down the hallway, his pace speeding up the closer they got to the doors. He was almost to them when he felt a hand on his chest. A cop got in his way, “There's nothing to see here, son.”  
  
Bruce looked up to see the officers pull Jack out of the doors, the innocent man still wiggling in their arms. Bruce watched until the sunlight bleached the figures out of existence. The last Bruce saw of Jack was a sly smile and a wink in his direction.   
  



	14. Chapter 14

Bruce sat at the cafe in his apartment building, attempting to will the words of the textbook in front of him into his mind. The words on the page in front of him had turned into blobs; he couldn’t bring them to focus if he wanted. Dark circles hung under his normally bright eyes. The police took Jack in for questioning a week ago. Bruce hadn't sat still like Jack had told him to. He had been trying everything to help him get out. He’d even called home to speak with someone at his father's company, oozing out all of his inherent Wayne charm to make it sound like he was asking a question for his studies.   
  
“Honestly, Mr. Wayne, I doubt our firm would get involved in such a case. Even if there was substantial proof the cops were involved, I think the defendant would be better off contacting a non-profit firm...”  
  
Bruce grit his teeth, forcing the words of the lawyer out of his head. The conversation reminded him of something crucial he had forgotten – proof. He had no proof that Belzer set Jack up or even proof that Jack didn't do it. Since this realization Bruce had tried to follow Belzer and made a pitiful mess of it. He wasn't exactly James Bond. Bruce was sure the little snot had caught on and now was more cautious about his movements in and out of the apartment building. Now, Bruce felt like he had run out of all options; he was still trailing Belzer when he could, but it was wearing him ragged.   
  
The exhaustion was good. It kept Bruce's mind from wandering to explore the deeper recesses of his reasons behind why he was doing this. Emotions were a liability he could not afford, not now. He had to focus.   
  
The scene in the stairway played again in his mind. The haunting look in Jack's eyes as he approached him, the bite of mint lingering just behind his lips. Their lips pressing against one another. Bruce wanting to reach out...  
  
The disheveled millionaire jostled his body to get the image out of his head, sending his coffee cup to the floor. The 20-something barista behind the counter scurried out to pick up the mess. Bruce knelt down to help, looking sheepishly at the red haired boy in front of him. “Sorry.”  
  
The boy picked up the pieces and placed them in a green dustpan. “Don't worry about it man, studying can really take the life right out of ya.”  
  
The clerk's stooped a little closer to Bruce, his green nametag with the name “Ronnie,” on it swinging a foot away from Bruce's nose.  
  
“If you needed a little pick me up, I've got just the stuff you need. My dealer just got a great stash from upstate,” Ronnie turned back to the task at hand, leaving his words to sink into Bruce's brain.   
  
“What did you just say?”  
  
Ronnie looked up at Bruce, apprehension in his eyes. “My dealer says it is good stuff. He knows what he's talking about.”  
  
Bruce stood, pushing his study materials into his messenger bag with a sweep of his arm. He reached into his pocket, dug out a twenty and handed it to Ronnie, who accepted it with a bemused look on his face.   
  
“Okay, so does this mean you...”  
  
Bruce didn't hear the rest of Ronnie's sentence because he was walking across the lobby and through the doors. He had been going about this all wrong.   
  
Bruce jogged to across the grass towards the street.   
  
He couldn't clear Jack's name on his own. He may have power, but it was of the wrong kind. His father had surrounded his company with good people, the kind of people who wouldn't do what Bruce needed to be done. Those people would want to follow the letter of the law. He needed someone who didn’t care about rules, just like Jack.   
  
Bruce stuck his hand out to hail a passing cab. It squealed to a halt a few feet from him. Bruce got in, trying to shrug the bitter cold off of his shoulders.   
  
“Where to, cutie?” The large woman in the driver’s seat blew a ring of smoke on the Plexiglas window separating them.  
  
To clear Jack's name he would have to get down to his friend's level. He needed to find someone with power in Jack’s world.  
  
“Knuckles,” Bruce said, slamming a fifty dollar bill against the plastic, “and step on it.”  
  
The woman didn't bother to respond before squealing away from the curb.   
  
The light in the office of Knuckles seemed to be linked to the music in the bar, every base beat they would flicker. Based on the peeling paint that covered the walls and the second hand furniture surrounding the desk, Bruce would bet it was the same age as the decaying building it resided in.   
  
Bruce looked across the desk at Cesar, who leaned back in his chair, contemplating the story Bruce had just told him, about his best dealer's recent incident with the police.  
   
Cesar’s silent contemplation had stretched across several minutes and Bruce was beginning to wonder if he had made the right decision.   
  
“Bruce.”  
  
Cesar's voice brought Bruce out of his thoughts. The older man sat forward in his chair, leaning his elbows on the desk in front of him.  
  
“Listen, you are a very nice kid. I can understand wanting to help your friend, but you have to understand that this is a business. I don't see how anything you are proposing to me would benefit me.”  
  
“You'd have your best dealer back on the street.”  
  
“I could have three kids ready to replace him in less than a week. They would take a smaller cut than Jack too.”  
  
Bruce set his jaw and looked Cesar in the eye. He knew it would come to this.   
  
“It was not my intention to ask you to help me without properly compensating you for your efforts,” Bruce smiled thinking that was definitely something Jack would say in a situation like this.   
  
A sly smile crawled across Cesar’s lips. “Oh, I don't think you could afford my help. We do have people in the police, but their favors come at a high price. Getting him bailed out... at least a hundred thousand...”  
  
“That's not what I want.”  
  
Cesar's eyebrow perked up. “Oh?”  
  
“His record, everything, I want it gone. From his first offense to this latest one. I want it to be like he never got arrested – not even a parking ticket,” Bruce's hands hung loosely at his sides even though his heart was hammering against his chest. It was a tall order to ask; perhaps too tall to ask someone of Cesar's standing in the pyramid of crime.   
  
“If you can get me the hundred thousand then we will talk. I doubt a kid like you could get that much.”  
  
This was a game to see how much he was worth. It all depended on how quick he could get the money.   
  
“I don't want to play games. I just want to help Jack. Just tell me how much.”  
  
Cesar's calm face eroded into a scowl. “Listen, Chico, these people who I have to call to do what you're asking, they need reassurance I'm good for the money I'm promising. This conversation is over until you bring me the money.”  
  
Cesar got up and walked Bruce to the door. Bruce walked back out to the street, hailing another cab to take him to the nearest bank.

  
*****

“This is much more than a ruined Lamborghini, Master Bruce.”   
  
The Wayne's loyal butler’s sounded worried. Bruce was at the bank for the second time that day, now asking for double what he'd withdrawn last time. Although Bruce was an adult, his parents still left Alfred as an overseer to his funds far into adulthood. Most times Alfred would turn the other cheek, but Bruce knew these large withdraws would get his attention. Alfred had stopped the transaction with a note insisting Bruce call him before he would release the money.   
  
“Alfred,” Bruce sighed looking around the Bank manager’s office.   
  
“I have a friend who is in trouble. Before you protest or tell me some story with a moral just listen, I've tried everything; this is the only way I know how to help. His whole life he has had no one to stick up for him. Just let me do this. Please.”  
  
Bruce held his breath until Alfred finally broke the silence.   
  
“You know, your father wouldn't approve of you hanging around with people who need to be bailed out of this much trouble.”  
  
It wasn't a no, Bruce dared to hope.  
  
A sigh sounded on the other end of the line. “Alright, put me in contact with the manager and I'll release the funds. Just be careful.”  
  
Cesar counted through the last stack of bills and looked across the table at Bruce.   
  
“My friend, we have a deal.”  
  
“How do I know you will make good on your end?”  
  
Cesar laughed slapping a stack of bills on the desk.  “Who else do you have to turn to?”  
  
Bruce left the room wondering if he had just purchased Jack's freedom or his own ticket to hell.

  
*****

Bruce lay awake looking at the shadows moving across the ceiling of his apartment. Sometime yesterday exhaustion had kicked him, giving him a few blissful hours before his first class. But tonight all he could think about was Jack. He'd never even seen a jail. The closest he ever got was when they traveled outside of Gotham and could see the prison on the outskirts of town. He wondered if Jack was there or just in a holding cell in police headquarters, or someplace worse.   
  
There it was again, that dull aching in his chest. It always came with thoughts of Jack and his current situation. Bruce wondered if it was guilt, but how could he have known what was going to happen. If he had he would have done anything to stop it. He would do anything to have things go back to the way they were. To have Jack there right away.  
  
The phone ring echoed through the darkness a few times before Bruce realized the noise wasn't in his mind.   
  
The receiver felt heavy in Bruce's hand. “Hello?”  
  
“It's done. You'll see your boy again tomorrow.”  
  
There was nothing else, just a click and the shallow hum of the dial tone. Bruce hadn’t recognized the voice on the other end.   
  
It surprised him that the first thing the thought of was his father. He would have been really proud. For once in Bruce’s life he had fought to do something right. He’d set a good person, an innocent person free.   
  
Endorphins coursed through Bruce’s system with the realization he would see Jack tomorrow, and he effortlessly slipped into sleep.   
  



	15. Chapter 15

“Napier, fun time is over.”  
  
Jack opened his eyes and sat up in the uncomfortable cell bed.   
  
“Over so soon, officer Tulley?”   
  
Jack knew the cops squeezed as much time out of his release as humanly possible. They were waiting for a last second miracle that wouldn't come. When Jack made plans, he made sure they were air tight. From the moment they put the handcuffs on him, he knew it was just a matter of time before one of his escape plans fell into place – namely Bruce Wayne.   
  
He amused himself over the past week by pissing off some guards and befriending others, friends in this place could come in handy. For example the nice rookie who let him sneak in a shower before he was released back into the wild of course Jack gave him something just as nice in return. Days staring at a wall and fucking with the cop interrogating him quickly grew old. The gray walls were so boring, they needed color. Why not a happy shade of green? Jack suggested the cell makeover to a guard and was promptly ushered in for a psych evaluation. It was like being a teenager all over again. Stupid doctors so easily fooled by the answers he rehearsed from textbooks. Who were they to judge what was sane anyways?  
  
Now it was just paperwork standing between him and freedom. Yesterday Cesar had stopped by to tell him about Bruce’s “charitable donation.” He was too excited Bruce had taken the bait he wasn’t even annoyed when Cesar's drawl spoke to him through the rusty bars of the cell.   
  
“You're getting out tomorrow. Come straight to Knuckles, we have business to take care of.”  
  
A pithy command; Cesar hadn’t even give Jack a chance to respond before walking away. Jack wondered what was in store for him at Knuckles as Tulley unlocked the door.   
  
“Oh, I'm sure you'll be back here soon enough,” Tulley sneered at him through the long strands of dark hair covering a pail face.   
  
Jack put his hands in his pockets and took his time strolling through the cell doors. He smiled at Tulley, who gritted his teeth and pointed to his left.  
  
“This way.”  
  
Jack was amused by Tulley's anger, but he didn't toy with the man anymore, he was too close to the outside for pranks. A plump officer stuffed into an overstretched uniform behind a counter handed Jack his belongings, listing off his effects as he placed them on the counter.  
  
Jack's thoughts were somewhat far more ascetically pleasing as he slipped his jacket on and walked towards the exit of the station. Tully followed him, ever the dutiful lapdog to the badge. Just as he reached the doors, Jack turned and bowed.  
  
“Gentlemen, it has been a pleasure.”  
  
He turned and walked out of the station and into the orange light of dusk. Jack hailed a cab while he skipped down the steps.   
  
“Knuckles,” Jack said as he slid onto the cracked leather seat.   
  
The destination reminded him of the last cab ride he took with Bruce.   
  
Wayne... he had thought about him quite a bit while staring at those gray walls. Kissing him had been a bit rash but Jack was sure he'd made the right move. Bruce was practically begging for it; dilated pupils, rapid heartbeat, shallow breathing – it all gave him away. Jack leaned his head against the seat and remembered how the billionaire tasted. Only his thoughts strayed a bit from reality. In his thoughts Bruce opened his mouth, welcoming Jack's tongue inside. The supposed playboy pulled Jack close as a wanton sigh escaped between kisses.   
  
The cabbie slamming on his break ejected Jack from his dream and into the smoke scented leather seat in front of him.  
  
Jack looked into the rear view mirror, “easy there hot shot.”  
  
The driver’s eyes focused on him through the glass and the only response Jack got was a grunt before his eyes turned back to the road.   
  
Sat back into the seat and stared at the passing scenery until it entered Cesar's territory. The cab came to an abrupt halt outside of Knuckles. Jack threw some money at the cab driver, “seriously, you suck at driving, even for a cab driver.”  
  
The cabbie's shouted response rebounded off of the noise that hit Jack as soon as he opened the door to Knuckles. A half dozen people, all Jack recognized as some of his most loyal customers, gathered in front of the doorway cheering his arrival. Jack spotted Cesar among them and quirked up his eyebrow, “so this is what being a celebrity feels like. I can only imagine what you would have done if I actually went to jail.”  
  
Cesar shook his hand. “Don't get a big head. You’re not that fucking special.”  
  
Jack shook his bosses' hand with a laugh. He noticed the few guests were wearing multicolored party hats. The green and purple one perched on top of Cesar's head looked so out of place against his street rough exterior, Jack couldn't help but burst into laughter.   
  
Jack patted Cesar on the shoulder while catching his breath. “Nice hat.”  
  
Cesar grinned and ripped it off his head, crumpling the paper in his hand. He pointed with his thumb in the direction of the bar, “He said you'd get a kick out of it.”  
  
Jack looked where Cesar gestured. He instantly locked eyes with Bruce. The billionaire leaned up against the bar with a smile, tipping the beer in his hand towards Jack in a congratulatory gesture. The world around Jack went mute and he felt his mouth water. Bruce wore a tight black t-shirt on top of jeans that just screamed “grab my ass.” Leaning up against the bar in that casual pose, he looked good enough to eat. Jack squeezed his nails into the palm of his hand as he felt the erection he had in the cab attempting to make another grand entrance.  Jack walked past Cesar and made his way towards Bruce.   
  
Cesar’s hand clamped on his shoulder hard enough to cause a pain.  
  
“Do not forget, we have business to discuss,” the Mexican's tone was harsh and Jack nodded.  
  
Erection successfully aborted, thank you Cesar.   
  
“I'm not going to forget, Cesar.”  
  
“Ok, kid, I just know how you get when you start thinking with your penè.”  
  
Jack turned to his boss with a mischievous grin. “Why Cesar – what makes you think that?”   
  
Cesar chuckled, backing away from Jack. “Whatever esè.”  
  
Jack gave Cesar one last look and sauntered up to the bar. Bruce gave Jack a half smile and handed him a beer. “Hey, stranger.”  
  
Jack couldn't help but return the smile as he leaned against the bar.   
  
“Oh, if anything my stint in jail has made me stranger.”  
  
 Jack sipped his beer and looked around the bar. Everyone had removed their hats and had settled back into their old selves. _Ah, it felt good to be the king, if only for a minute,_ he thought before his mind turned to the situation at hand. He knew the reason for the silence, the unfinished business in the stairway. He wanted to finish it. All he could think about was finishing it. But now wasn't the time.   
  
“Did the school survive without me?”  
  
“It almost didn't, the memorials dedicated to you started crowding the hallways.”  
  
Jack turned away from the crowd and rested his elbows on the bar. “Women crying in the hallways?”  
  
Bruce followed suit, placing his empty beer on the bar before leaning on his shoulders.  
  
“Oh yeah,” Bruce said with a laugh.   
  
They were close enough that their arms rested against each other, huddled in their own private world. Jack liked it this way, tucked away from everything else that didn't make sense. The conversation continued filled with their typical jabs at one another and the people around them. Laughing like this Jack had to remind himself of the game. I _t feels like this because it is so effortless,_ Jack told himself.    
  
Bruce turned to look at him, their proximity on the bar allowing them only the breath of a moment between their faces.   
  
“I'm glad you're back.”  
  
Jack grinned, a small victory dance starting in his head. “It's good to have someone to come back to besides the pushers and the users and the walking bags of flesh that fill the gap between.”  
  
Bruce tipped his beer in Jack's direction with a smile. “The dynamic duo?”  
  
Jack laughed at Bruce's mock sarcastic tone, clinking his bottle on Bruce's. “To the dynamic duo.”  
  
 _Come to think of it, when did he get that second beer? How many has he had?_ Jack thought about how little Bruce usually drank and made a mental note to subtlety cut him off somehow. He wanted him to be sober for what was going to happen. He didn't want any crutches for Bruce to lean on in the morning.   
  
“Hey, boys, having a good time?” Cesar appeared in front of them and Bruce took a sidestep away from Jack.   
  
_Great timing,_ Jack sighed as he stood from the bar and turned to Bruce. “I'll be right back.”  
  
Bruce nodded and Jack walked along the bar tapping every barstool he passed with his fingers. Cesar held the small door to the back of the bar open with a smile. “Let's chat.”  
  
Jack looked back at Bruce who watched him intently, a hint of worry in his face. Jack gave him a reassuring smile before disappearing into Cesar's office.  
  
It was a good fifteen minutes until Jack emerged from the back room with Cesar.  Bruce knew because he had been checking his watch impulsively since Jack had disappeared behind the stained red door.   
  
Bruce filled with tension as Jack walked towards him; did Cesar tell him everything? He asked Cesar not to say anything but, in the end, he couldn't control what the Mexican would do behind closed doors.  
  
Bruce moved to take a drink; Jack put a hand on his arm, stopping the bottle before it reached his lips.   
  
“Wanna get out of here? I'm starting to smell like this place,” Jack slid both hands in his pockets and smiled at Bruce.  
  
“Is everything ok?” Bruce spied Cesar leaving the back room, shaking his head – not a good sign.   
  
“Cesar?” Jack glanced behind him, “he's a business man like myself. He's just pissed my time in the clank took money out of his pocket. I don't really want to stare at his ugly mug right now anyways.”   
  
“Well I did just get a copy of The Blob...” Bruce tried to look innocent and Jack laughed at his attempt.   
  
“A gigantic pink pile of goo that eats people for dinner. How could I resist?”   
  
Bruce slid on his jacket, still wondering if Cesar told Jack anything. One thing Jack was good at was putting on a mask. They walked towards the door together and Bruce wondered how Jack would react if he knew how much it had taken to free him. The night air went straight to his bones. Bruce shivered in his jacket while he stood on a corner and waited for Jack to hail a cab.   
  
Jack was a proud guy who really trusted in his own power to perfectly play out situations. He must have had something up his sleeve to get him out of jail. But for the life of him Bruce couldn't figure out what that might have been.   
  
The cab pulled up and Bruce slid in the back with Jack. They talked about what happen since Jack was gone, easy banter Bruce could participate in without really thinking.   
  
Whatever Jack planned took too long for Bruce. He had sought out Cesar's help to fix a problem Jack may or may not have been on top of. Would Jack be mad? Grateful? Insulted?  
  
Bruce wouldn't know until they were alone.   
  
“So, what about the work you've missed?”  
  
Bruce stepped out of the elevator, feeling slightly relieved. They had been alone since the moment they stepped out of the cab and Jack hadn't said anything about Bruce’s “intervention.”  
  
Jack shrugged, “I'll work something out.”    
  
Bruce opened the door to his apartment, standing aside to let Jack in. Only the recess lighting on the kitchen was on, giving the living room a soft glow. Bruce tossed his keys towards the bowl on the counter and missed horribly. He grimaced as the metal clanged across the floor.   
  
“Wooo, nice job Shaq.”  
  
“Shut up,” Bruce smiled and shook his head at Jack's teasing as he bent down to pick up the keys. Bruce felt the air forced out of his lungs as Jack jumped on him from above. His world spun as he was flipped on to his back.   
  
“Jack what the fu-”  
  
Bruce's words were stopped by Jack's mouth. Jack's hands pressed Bruce's shoulders into the floor as his lips began their assault on the billionaire. Bruce felt Jack's lips soften just as they had in the stairway, the boy's tongue tracing his lips, begging for permission to enter. Bruce's eyes tried to focus but all he could see were strands of Jacks hair against the flushed canvas of his skin.   
  
This was crazy. What happened in the stairway was a fluke, two people caught in a fucked up moment. It shouldn't happen again. It shouldn't....  
  
Despite his rational thoughts Bruce's lips were starting to lose their stiff, unyielding persona. Clenching his fist, Bruce tried to utter a protest but Jack just took the opportunity to slip his tongue into Bruce's mouth.  Bruce grabbed Jack’s left wrist and wedged his leg under Jack’s knee. He turned quickly, throwing Jack off to the side.  
  
“Jack. Just wait,” Bruce held his hands up in a stop gesture and leaned his head against the walk at his back.    
  
Bruce pushed Jack a little too hard and he had crashed against the barstools around the counter. Jack stared at the floor, breathing heavy.   
  
“No,” it was almost inaudible.  
  
Bruce looked at Jack, his face a mixture of curiosity and panic at what he thought he just heard, “What?”  
  
Jack pushed his hair out of his face and locked eyes with Bruce. “No.”  
  
 Jack's face looked the same way it did in the hallway before their kiss. Bruce scrambled to his feet he didn't know how to respond to that look. He put his back to the wall and felt the familiar tightness in his jeans. Apparently his body knew how to respond.   
  
Dammit, he didn't want to think about this. He didn't want this.   
  
Jack didn't give him time to think. In a flash he tackling Bruce to the ground. Jack pushed his lips back on Bruce's as one of his hands snaked down Bruce's abdomen. Jack’s hand slid under Bruce’s shirt, his cold fingers teasing the skin beneath. One of Jack's lengthy digits ghosted over Bruce's nipple and the billionaire bit his lip in frustration. Bruce hooked his arm and leg around Jack and rolled to pin the boy beneath him.  _This was enough!_  
  
“Jack, stop!”   
  
Bruce trembled and had to focus his strength to keep Jack pinned down.  He looked down at Jack, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. Was he mad? Was this his way of getting back at him for paying off Cesar?  
  
“Stop it!” Jack shouted in his face. “Stop thinking.”   
  
Jack wiggled his leg out from underneath Bruce and pushed him away. He stood and started to pace. Bruce stood on shaky legs, he had no idea what was going on or even how he felt about it. Things were going way too fast. He needed time to think. They needed to talk before this went any further.   
  
“Stop thinking. You've lived a life where you do exactly what other people expect of you every step of the way. Even your so called “youthful rebellion” was predictable. Are you going to graduate from this place, put on a suit and be a slave to your name forever or are you going to grasp something you want for once in your life?”  
  
“You don't know what you're talking about,” Bruce was pacing now too, “besides, how is _that_ going to help?”  
  
Jack stopped pacing and came at Bruce again, crowding him into a wall. “Stop hearing what other people want you to say and listen to yourself. Tell me - why did you come after me the day the cops arrested me?”  
  
Bruce couldn't clearly pick apart the situation to make sense of it, too many things were screaming through his mind at once. His parents, school, what Jack said, and the past few months where he felt like he could leave his last name behind and just be Bruce. The simple fact that having Jack's body pinning him to a wall _shouldn’t_ make him hard. Underneath everything was the heat he couldn't ignore when Jack was near.    
  
“Why did you have that stupid party for me?”  
  
The anger had vanished from Jack's eyes, leaving only the lingering heat from before mixed with something else Bruce couldn't identify.   
  
“Jack...I...”  
  
Bruce wanted to push Jack away but a part of him was beginning to agree with the points Jack had made. Bruce risked so much just going to Cesar for someone he’d only known for a few months. He couldn't explain it away. Bruce's eyes focused on Jack's t-shirt, while his mind sank into the unknown feeling in his chest.   
  
“And why do you look like you haven't slept in weeks?”  
  
Bruce looked into Jack's eyes. The answer was all there. It had been there since the time they talked in the courtyard. That strange wanting that rumbled around in the box Bruce kept his emotions in. They were two of a kind, both misunderstood and stuck in the escapable rolls life had carved out for them.   
  
Maybe that was it. After a lifetime of empty relationships Bruce found someone he actually wanted to be around. These feelings he had for Jack wasn't falling for him, it was his desperation to stave off that final moment where he would be lost to the name of Wayne forever.   
  
So maybe, just for now, trapped inside these walls, he could do something completely crazy and selfish. Something he didn't understand – something he didn't want to understand. But something he genuinely wanted.  
  
Bruce closed the gap between them and caught Jack's mouth in a kiss. His lips weren't hard this time, parting easily to let Jack's tongue inside. Letting rational thoughts drip from his mind, Bruce could focus on the heat coursing through his body and pooling low in his belly.   
  
Jack kissed like a starving man, changing the pressure and position frequently, not wanting to let a corner of Bruce's mouth go unexplored. With every nip of Jack's teeth Bruce could feel his jeans becoming more and more uncomfortable.   
  
Jack pushed Bruce further into the wall and straddled Bruce's right leg. Bruce could feel Jack's cock, hot and hard through his jeans. Jack wrapped his arms around Bruce's waist and rubbed against his thigh.   
  
Through it all Jack's kisses were still just as relentless as they were the first moment Bruce brought their lips together. Jack occasionally would nip at Bruce's lips and traced the swollen flesh with his tongue.   
  
The only noise filling Bruce's ears was the sound of their heavy breathing combining with the drumming of his heart.   
  
Every time Bruce felt his mind trying to think about the situation he bucked his hips forward and let his mind melt with the sweet sensation of the fabric pulling on his cock. Whenever Bruce swayed his hips, Jack would groan softly and return the gesture. It became more frequent until Jack had Bruce pinned against the wall – both men groaning between labored breaths while they rubbed up against each other like teenagers in the backseat.   
  
Jack's hands were the first to move, following the waistband of Bruce's pants before dipping down and cupping his erection through the denim. Bruce's breathing hitched at Jack's touch. Pausing before he arched upward into Jack’s palm.   
  
Bruce did allow himself to think about how amazing Jack's hands were, twisting and pulling his cock through the fabric just right.   
  
Bruce copied Jack's movements and groaned with pleasure when he curved his fingers around the hot length of fabric.   
  
Jack's mouth moved along Bruce's jaw and down the side of his neck. Every nip from Jack’s teeth and caress of his tongue was pushing Bruce further from sanity.   
  
Bruce rubbed Jack's cock through the fabric the way he enjoyed touching himself, starting as close to the base as he could get with long quick strokes.   
  
Jack lifted his lips from Bruce's shoulder grunting as he thrust his hips in time with Bruce's hand, “need you. Now.”  
  
Bruce barely registered the words before Jack was flicking open the button of his jeans and pulling his fly down. Jack looked up into Bruce's eyes and dragged the billionaire's pants down his hips. Bruce moaned as his cock broke free of his underwear and was surrounded by the chilled air of the room. He stopped stroking Jack; all he could do was look into his eyes that seemed to be daring him to flinch, to turn away from the hand surrounding him.   
  
Then Jack's began to move and Bruce felt his world shatter. He moaned and buried his face in Jack's neck while he thrust into his hand.   
  
“Bruce...”  
  
Jack's plea helped bring Bruce back to the surface and his hands moved from the front of Jack's pants to the fastenings that held them in place. He was quick with the job and it wasn't long until Jack's thick shaft was in his hand, the tip slick from the pre-come weeping from it.   
  
It was so hard to concentrate on what he was doing when Jack's hands were on him. He stroked long and fast, trying to match the pace of Jack's hand.   
  
“Nnggg,” Jack grunted, pushing their hips together so their cocks rubbed against one another.   
  
“Fuck,” it was the first thing Bruce had said since it had started. His tip was flicking up against Jack's every time their hands moved back down their shafts and it was driving him towards the edge.   
  
Jack's hand movements were became more erratic as he thrust their cocks together at a frenzied pace.   
  
Bruce moved his head from Jacks neck and opened his eyes. Jack's eyes were closed, beads of sweat condensing on his brow and his mouth was open in a silent moan. He'd never seen the boy look that vulnerable. Bruce tipped his forehead so it touched Jack’s, their collective pants and groans combining in the inches of space between their mouths.  
  
Bruce suddenly felt the familiar tug starting low in his abdomen, he could barely breath. “Jack I'm...”    
  
“Me t...” Jack didn't even have time to get the words out before his hot seed was spilling onto Bruce's hand. Jack's come slicked across Bruce's cock and he topped over the edge. Lights exploded behind his eyes as he cried Jack's name into the darkness.   
  
Bruce's legs gave way and he slowly slid down the wall, taking Jack with him. They huddled against the wall, breathing heavy with their heads on each other's shoulders. Finally, Jack broke the silence. “Wow.”  
  
Bruce had to agree.  
  



	16. Chapter 16

It was that odd hour in the morning where the sun was up, but it hadn't had enough time to shake the orange hue of dawn out of its light. It snowed the night before, the delicate piles on the window sill of Bruce Wayne's bedroom shifted in the wind outside. The shifting snowdrifts caused small shadows to dance through the morning light, streaming in through the window and painting the ceiling of Bruce's room.   
  
Hands behind his head, Jack watched the shadows of the snow outside on the ceiling, feeling a state of contentment he hadn't felt in a long time.   
  
Morning was when Jack did his best thinking. Many people would be surprised that, despite his nocturnal profession, he always woke early and let his mind plot through the upcoming day's events.   
  
Jack's mind returned to the heated fumble-fuck he and Bruce had indulged in against the billionaire’s living room wall. A smile slid across his lips, he couldn't imagine a better “yay you just got out of jail” present. He planned it differently, but when he saw Bruce bent over in his kitchen...well, he was only a man after all. The end result had been the same and that was all he cared about.   
  
Bruce had stopped thinking, if only for a little while. If Jack wanted to succeed he had to make sure Bruce continued to focus on what could be instead of what should be.   
  
Jack turned to look at Bruce whose back was towards him. Jack studied Bruce’s back, tracing the muscles in his shoulders down to where they connected to his spine. When he got to the edge of the blanket around Bruce's hips he didn't have to use too much imagination to envision what was below.   
  
_I could push the pieces off the board and play in the curves of his neck, the taught muscles of shoulders...._  
  
Jack looked away, his mind abruptly switching to midterms next week. He put a few plans in place to prepare for the worst. After a triumphant return to his sociology class today he'd have to go seek his pawns out and make sure they were all still in place. Though if things went as planned he wouldn't be at school next year anyways...  
  
The hush of shifting sheets pulled Jack out of his thoughts. He turned his eyes to Bruce who had rolled onto his back. One hand was still tucked under his head, while the other rested by his side. Jack had to admit he'd never gotten a man this handsome into bed before. He let out a silent laugh and shook his head. Last night was awesome. He could definitely teach Bruce everything he needed to know to turn him from a great screw into the fuck of a lifetime.   
  
Jack wanted to keep things going last night, but the past week's ordeal zapped the energy out of both of them. He meant it when he said Bruce looked liked he hadn't slept in weeks. They both quickly dropped into sleep next to each other in Bruce's luxurious bed after stripping out of their spunk-splattered clothing.   
  
Jack took in the dimensions of the king bed he slept in, the several hundred dollar sheets that slid along his skin and the thousands of dollars of furnishings that surrounded him. He briefly wondered if this is what Marilyn felt like after she nabbed JFK... or if it had been the other way around.    
  
As nice as luxury was it wasn't what Jack was after. It wasn't hard to get a rich guy in his line of work. Besides, he had money to spare. Money clogged your senses and gives a false sense of security. It was a childish goal. Something any hustler with a high school education could pull off. Jack could go much further than that.   
  
His eyes turned back to Bruce. His mind went quiet as he stared at the billionaire while he slept.  Sometimes not thinking was good for both of them. Slipping into romantic thoughts like the one he had a moment ago was pointless. Jack licked his lips spotting the stiff mound of Bruce's morning erection under the sheets. Bruce had slept long enough.  
  
He slid the sheets off Bruce, paying attention to every movement. _Don't want to wake him before the fun starts,_ Jack thought with a smile uncovering a boxer-clad Bruce Wayne. Bruce's movement caused the fly of his boxers to slide to the side, denying Jack the easy access he had hoped for.   
  
“Playing hard to get I see, Mr. Wayne,” Jack muttered under his breath as he poked one finger inside the opening of fabric.   
  
He tugged slightly, sliding the hole over. It offered an exquisite keyhole view of Bruce's lower abdomen as it slid from the smooth skin of his hip, then to his abdomen, and then into the dark curls surrounding his cock. Jack appreciated Bruce's habit for sleeping heavy as he gingerly reached through the hole and pulled Bruce's half-hard member through. He knew Bruce would wake up any moment so he didn't have time to waste. It was difficult to maneuver a good blow job from the side, but Jack would have to make due until Bruce woke up and he could reposition himself.   
  
Jack licked his lips once and sucked Bruce's cock into his mouth. Even in the morning he still tasted amazing, Jack circled his tongue around the tip. He ran his tongue from tip to base and then back up again, loving the feeling of Bruce getting harder under his touch.  
  
Bruce let out a groan and started to move, not quite conscious yet.   
  
“Jack, what the?” Bruce jerked his hips up in surprise, his cock slamming against the back of Jack's throat.  
  
Jack coughed as he watched Bruce sit up and adjust himself back inside his boxers.   
  
“I don't mind deep throating Bruce, but a little warning would be nice,” Jack started to crawl between Bruce's open legs.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
Even though Jack was advancing on him, Bruce hadn't moved. _Too late to play hard to get._ Jack got to his knees and ran his hands along Bruce's inner thighs. With the headboard behind him, Bruce couldn't back away. Jack smirked; he had a habit of backing the billionaire into a corner. Jack captured his mouth in a hot kiss and pulled away, his hands edging closer to Bruce's cock.   
  
“Trying to finish what I started,” Jack's hands were at Bruce's fly now, tracing a delicate line around the opening.   
  
Bruce was breathing heavy now, his eyes a mixture of lust and morning haze. Jack kissed him again, placing a hand behind Bruce's head and guiding it back until it rested on the head board. When he was sure Bruce would stay put, he moved his mouth downward. He stopped at the base of Bruce's throat to tease the sensitive skin there before making his way further down the magnificent body before him. Jack took a detour to pull one of Bruce's nipples into his mouth.   
  
Jack heard Bruce grunt through clenched teeth and felt him buck his hips. _You’re welcome,_ Jack thought, smiling against the textured skin under his lips. Jack nipped his way over to Bruce's other nipple, earning himself another moan and a reminder of what he really wanted to get his mouth on.   
  
Shifting his attention southward, Jack let the tip of his tongue drag down Bruce's stomach to the band of his boxers. Jack turned his eyes up to look at Bruce, his tongue still flicking against the skin a few inches below Bruce's bellybutton.   
  
Bruce's eyes were focused on him.   
  
On the rare occasion when he would go down on a guy they would look away or close their eyes. But not Bruce, he looked directly at him; like he was daring him in some way. All rational thoughts melted away and Jack's only thought was how hot it was Bruce never ceased to amaze him. He lifted his head away from Bruce's body, returning the challenge. “I can stop if you want me to.”  
  
Jack could feel the hint of a pulse beating through Bruce's thighs. He tried to steady his face and look calm, like he wouldn't care if Bruce kicked him out of his bed. What really ate at Jack was that he _did_ care. After the taste of Bruce last night he was addicted. All he wanted was his next hit, to take them to the next level and the new high that came with it.   
  
The soundless hum of the moment stretched on until Jack was sure Bruce was going to tell him to go.   
  
“No.”  
  
Jack didn't hide his excitement at Bruce's reply. “Your wish is my command.”  
  
He swallowed Bruce's cock in one quick moment. Bruce cried out, the muscles in his legs tensing under Jack's hands. Jack moved his legs forward so he didn't have to support his hands on Bruce's thighs. He knelt and wrapped one hand around the base of Bruce's erection. Jack hummed slightly as he slid his mouth up and down, his hand following behind his lips.   
  
“Jack...” the word escaped Bruce's mouth in a choked whisper. Jack took it as a good sign and hummed a little steadier; sure the vibrations from his mouth were driving Bruce towards the edge.   
  
Bruce’s cock was amazing, thick and long and incredibly hot in Jack's mouth. Jack had to use all of his willpower to not reach between his own legs and stroke himself to relieve the bittersweet pleasure building inside him.   
  
Jack's eyes flicked upward; the billionaire’s eyes were still trained on them. Jack's left hand gripped Bruce's thigh tighter. _Jesus Christ, that's hot,_ he thought as he pressed his tongue against the thick vein running along the bottom of Bruce's cock. That look in Bruce's eyes was just too much to take; a mixture of heat, disbelief and something Jack couldn't put his hand on. Now all he could think of was getting Bruce off so he could get to his own needs.  
  
Jack took his hand away and adjusted himself so he could swallow Bruce whole again. He kept humming as best he could as he let Bruce's thick cock slide down the back of his throat.   
  
Disjointed phrases fell from Bruce's lips,” want...Jack...good...ugh...god...don't stop...”  
  
Jack twisted his head slightly as he came out of each swallow, a trick he learned from an innocent choir boy years ago. It wasn't long until Bruce was moving his hips in time with Jack's mouth. _Almost there,_ Jack thought as he pulled his mouth back to the tip and started working the base of Bruce's cock with his hand.   
  
It only took a few strokes.   
  
“Jack I'm going to...”  
  
Jack sucked two more times before he heard Bruce cry out and felt his seed slide down the back of his throat.   
  
Jack sat up and made a show of licking his lips.  
  
 _My turn._  
  



	17. Chapter 17

Bruce’s head rested against the cool mahogany of the headboard, eyes closed. His brain attempted to recover after experiencing, if he was honest, the most intense orgasm of his life. He thought last night was good, but a fluke at best. Bruce wasn't sure if Jack would want him again. Hell, he had not been sure if he wanted Jack again. But when those Cheshire cat eyes looked up at him while Jack's tongue shot electricity across his skin, there wasn't anything he wanted more.  
  
“Still alive?” Jack's morning voice sounded rough and unused.  
  
Bruce slowly opened his eyes. Jack flopped next to Bruce with a lazy smile. Even though Jack's smile was meant to put him at ease, Bruce felt the exact opposite. He was unsure of how to proceed. Last night, well - he'd gotten himself off before and what they did was pretty much the same thing. But what Jack did just now...  
  
A finger plopped onto the middle of Bruce's forehead, “stop.”  
  
Bruce looked up to see Jack still smiling at him in a mocking sort of way.   
  
“Do you think I'd make you do anything you didn't want to?”  
  
“No, but...” _I want to..._   
  
Somewhere in Bruce's head a voice shouted _What?!_ He slapped a steel plate over its mouth. What was the point of even trying to make sense of this? Jack made him feel good, better than he had felt in years. After everything he had been through he deserved to be a little selfish. Why pull against the current? He wanted to get out of his life. Jack wanted him to forget, at least for a little while, and he was happy to oblige. Forgetting was as close to escape as he would ever get.   
  
Bruce felt the sheets constrict around his body as he twisted in them, straddling Jack's waist. He leaned in to Jack, a look of determination on his face.   
  
“I'm not a virgin, Jack, don't treat me like one.”  
  
Bruce leaned forward, his lips meeting Jack's. The kiss was like the one they shared the night before, hungry and filled with need. Their tongues' fought for territory in each ones mouth. Bruce ground his hips against Jack's and felt his arousal starting anew.   
  
Bruce broke the kiss so he could get out from under the blankets and straddle Jack's hips without the fabric to interfere. As his thighs settled on the warm skin of Jack's legs, Bruce remembers this was the first time they'd seen each other naked. Bruce chided himself for feeling self conscious, ignoring the heat in his face. He had been naked with other men in the locker rooms at school. Then again, he hadn't just gotten sucked into oblivion, literally, by one of his teammates either. Bruce's eyes returned to the body beneath him and he felt his cock twitch in response.  
  
Jack was definitely different.   
  
Ceasing his thoughts there, Bruce wrestled his feelings back into the box inside him and focused on mapping out Jack's body with his fingertips.   
  
Jack skin was not as pail as Bruce thought it would be, but it still looked luminescent in the light. Bruce traced down Jack's neck, muscles tight under his fingers and alive with the hint of a pulse.  Bruce’s pink digit assault team swooped over Jack's collarbone and eased down the center of his chest. Bruce wondered if this was how Jack always saw people, perfectly dissected and sprawled out before him.   
  
Jack's moaned softly as Bruce gently circled his nipple with his index finger. His exploration moved from Jack's chest across to his shoulder and back again. His flat chest seemed like a barren landscape compared to Bruce's physique, toned by years of sports. The billionaire couldn't help but think Jack looked almost imp-like, pinned to the bed by Bruce.   
  
This was good, Bruce liked going about this in _this_ manner. Not too close to Jack, but still in the moment enough to pick up on the dealer's reactions. Through it all he could feel the hot press of Jack's cock on his body as he moved. A part of him wanted to rush to the task at hand, anxious to see how Jack would react.  
  
 _Just keep studying,_ his mind urged him on.   
  
Lips replaced fingertips as Bruce continued to study Jack. He moved his mouth from neck to shoulder, then down to flick his tongue over Jack's nipple.   
  
“Ah, Bruce!”   
  
Bruce looked up to see Jack biting his lip, eyes still closed. He wondered if Jack kept his eyes shut to add mystery. Bruce was not one for power plays but he had to admit he liked seeing Jack completely at his mercy. Now he knew why Jack started the morning the exact same way - only fair he should give his teacher the same treatment. His lips moved further down, dancing through the thin trail of dark hair starting below Jack’s belly button. Bruce closed his eyes and rested his mouth on the skin on Jack's hip.  
  
He smelled like the musky after tones of yesterday’s wall-play. Bruce couldn't help but smile at the memory.   
  
Bruce lifted his lips and hovered there for a moment – there was only one place left to go. Actually, there were many places Bruce could put his mouth, but only one place he knew it would end up. Apprehension built inside him as he kissed his way down the crease in Jack's flesh where leg met torso. Bruce looked up when his lips finally met the soft nest of blond curls surrounding Jack's cock.   
  
Again, Bruce treated this like a science experiment. Taking his time studying Jack's cock from every angle, feeling less intimidated with every new edge calculated and curve accounted for.  He ran one finger along the underside of Jack's cock and the dealer nearly jumped off the bed.   
  
Jack's eyes flew open and Bruce pulled his hand away.   
  
Bruce swore he almost heard a soft whine escape Jack at the loss of his touch. Understanding what Bruce wanted, Jack growled and shut his eyes again, his hips moving upward slightly - inviting Bruce to continue. Bruce grinned and leaned forward, parting his lips and taking the head of Jack's cock into his mouth.   
  
Jack moaned, the noise bouncing off the walls of the bedroom. The series of noises that followed confirmed Bruce's suspicions that Jack was anything but quiet in bed. Unsure of what to do next, he looked back on what Jack had done to him earlier. Following his memory, Bruce wrapped a hand around the base of Jack's cock and began stroking in time with his mouth.  
  
Bruce circled his tongue around the hot flesh, focusing on the noises coming from Jack. It made sense he was like this in bed, it was probably the only place he would allow himself to relinquish control.   
  
“Bruce. Fuck. So good. Please...”  
  
Bruce thought of the amazing experience with Jack a few moments ago _, what had Jack done that felt so good?_ Flicking though mental images, his mind suddenly jumped to the memory of accidentally choke Jack and he laughed. It wasn't really a laugh, his mouth was too occupied, and more of a sound low in his throat.   
  
Jack cried out a string of words that sounded like another language. Jack's reaction jogged his memory – humming. That's what Jack did that drove him over the edge, would he like it too? _Only one way to find out_ he thought. Bruce relaxed his throat and let the noise fill his mouth.   
  
“Bruce, please... don't.”  
  
Bruce interpreted that to mean, _please Bruce, don't stop_ and continued to hum. Eyes closed as he focused on the task at hand, Bruce only knew Jack's reactions by the sounds.  
  
The squeak of a sweat slicked hand trying to grip the mahogany headboard.   
  
The tearing of fabric and the muffled thump the mattress.   
  
Suddenly, Bruce got a small taste of something different in his mouth, bitter and thick. _Precome,_ he thought to himself and readied himself for Jack's release. He hummed steadier and tried to relax so he could take more of Jack into his throat.  
  
“Bruce! I'm gonna...”  
  
Bruce didn't have time to think; he pushed Jack's cock to the back of the throat and swallowed several times. Jack screamed, his body pulsing with relief. Bruce sat back and swallowed once more to rid his mouth of the taste. It wasn't that bad. Plus seeing Jack in his current state was worth it.   
  
Jack's legs were spread wide and his arms held a tatted pillow close to his chest. Several feathers already escaped through a hole in the fabric decorated his chest. Jack's eyes were still closed and his head rested against the headboard.   
  
Bruce leaned on the pillow beside Jack, and poked at the other man's bicep.   
  
“Still alive? Or did my pillows fight back?”  
  
Jack opened the eye closest to Bruce.   
  
“Better than alive...”  
  
His eye slid close again.  
  
Bruce looked at Jack, trying to get back in the scientific mindset he mastered a few minutes ago. The grin on Jack's face betrayed his closed eyes and Bruce wondered what he was thinking. He got the feeling Jack was waiting for him to do something. His mind paused.  
  
This didn't sit right with Bruce. It was too familiar – too close. The glow, the smiles, the amazing exhaustion after release. It was a scene he'd played out many times before. He knew what was supposed to happen next. If Jack was a girl, he would have kissed her. But that seemed almost out of place here.   
  
Besides, he didn't want to. Two people who each needed something, that's what this was. They needed a distraction from life, an experiment. It didn't mean anything. If he kissed Jack now it would be different than before. All of the other times were in the moment, to help things get started. Now it would be _just_ a kiss. No mischief, no heat, no analysis – just pure emotion.  He couldn't – _wouldn't_ allow that.  
  
Bruce's body leaned forward, betraying his mind.  
  
 _Just once._   
  
He could feel Jack's breath on his face as his lips inched closer.   
  
_Just once._  
  
The annoying buzz of Bruce's alarm clock echoed through the bedroom. Bruce quickly turned from Jack and turned off the alarm with a forceful smack. He got out of bed and walked towards the bureau, his legs still feeling the aftershocks of Jack's amazing work.  
  
“Where are you going?” Jack asked in a sleepy tone.  
  
“To class,” Bruce picked through the top draw, “a place you may want to show up now that you're not behind bars.”  
  
He heard the sheets shift behind him and a muffled guffaw.  
  
“Not until eleven.”  
  
Bruce turned to see a maroon lump of sheets where Jack's naked body just been. He laughed, “So are you going to sleep the morning away under my sheets?”  
  
“Mmm hmmmm,” the pile of blankets answered him.   
  
Bruce laughed as he shut the bathroom door behind him.   
  



	18. Chapter 18

“New Jersey Police - open up!”  
  
The officers’ voices were no longer polite after the third knock. The pounding of fists on the door rang off the mahogany and reverberated off of the expensive furnishing within. Although the luxury apartment offered more room than any college student could need, the room seemed to reduce by a square foot with every knock. Until the entire world was crammed onto the top of a foot stool and held by four feet of rope.   
  
“We have a warrant for your arrest! Open up!”  
  
Everything had been planned perfectly; every detail had been accounted for. She had helped him with every detail. Where did things go wrong?  
  
The world blasted holes in his plan that opened up like canyons in the floor, greedily swallowing the footstool. The rope went taught and the beam above it cracked from the sudden weight.   
  
The world seemed to go still and the room expanded, buy breath wouldn't come. Instead the peaceful darkness slinked in from all sides, signaling the end.   
  
The door flew open with a crash, splinters spraying the room. Four policemen ran into the room.   
  
“Fuck! Danny, cut him down!”  
  
The officer scrambled on top of the stool and cut the rope that suspended the boy in air. His body landed to the floor with a thump and an officer knelt by him, placing two fingers on his neck. Another officer radioed for an ambulance.   
  
“We've got a pulse here.”  
  
“Got here just in time, eh captain.”  
  
The boy's head started to move slowly; turning from the bright light the cop shined in his eyes.  _Still alive? Jesus, yet another plan flushed down the tubes_. One officer gently turned the boys head to face him.   
  
“Can you hear me son?”  
  
Another officer held up a piece of paper nodding for the presiding officer to proceed.   
  
“Adrian Belzer, we have a warrant for your arrest...”

 *****  
  
Bruce had just got out of class and was headed toward the dorms at a leisurely pace when he heard the sirens. His heart sunk as he saw a crowd of students moving towards his building. He followed the crowd back to his apartment, panic pushing him faster with every thought of what would await him in front of the building. He pushed through the crowd, ignoring the snide remarks tossed his way.  Bruce saw the cops wheeling someone down the walkway on a stretcher when he finally broke through the cloud.  
  
The hair gave it away, short and bleached, nothing like Jack's long dirty blond tendrils. Bruce felt relief wash over him as he realized it was not Jack.  He looked closer at the face and realized he did know who it was - Belzer.   
  
Belzer looked numb to what was going on around him. His eyes were open but his body was limp, jostling like a rag doll with every movement of the stretcher. Bruce didn't know how to feel. He knew Belzer tried to frame Jack for murder but something about young millionaire's face made him feel cold inside.   
  
“RRAAAHHHH!”  
  
Belzer seemed to have woken from his stupor and now pulled against the restraints holding him to the stretcher. The crowd around Bruce grew louder; some screamed at Belzer for murdering their classmate, a few tried to comfort friends of the fallen heir, and others gossiped loudly about what had transpired that night.       
  
Belzer's screams blended in with the noise of the crowd. He fought against the paramedics and policemen trying to hold him down, his eyes turned towards the sky.   
  
Bruce turned away, ducking past a cop and making his way into the building, needing to find shelter from the chaos outside. He was thankful for the quiet hum of the elevator while he tried to rationalize that Belzer was a bad person who deserved what was going to happen to him. Even still, his lifeless eyes haunted Bruce. He put the key in his door knowing it was an image he wouldn't soon forget.   
  
Jack was in Bruce's apartment, peering out of the large windows overlooking the entrance.   
  
Bruce's first instinct was to run across the room and wrap his arms around Jack. He squeezed the door knob in his hand, cursing at himself for such a childish reaction. He wasn't five anymore, Jack was fine – there was no need to overreact.   
  
“You keep sneaking in here; I might start to regret giving you a key.”  
  
Jack turned and Bruce noticed a bag of popcorn in his hand. If it was anyone else Bruce would have thought munching on snack food while watching someone be hauled off to jail was morbid. But this was just Jack.  
  
The dealer smirked at him, “I could just pick the lock.”  
  
Bruce didn't doubt it. He dropped his backpack on the counter and grabbed water out of the fridge.  
  
“Quite the show.”   
  
Jack focused his attention outside again, the crunchy kernels slightly impeding his speech. Bruce walked over to the window and stood beside Jack. The cruiser and ambulance were gone and the crowd dispersed slowly.   
  
“Yeah...” Bruce still couldn't shake the Belzer's face from his mind.   
  
Jack swiped the water bottle out of Bruce's hands and took a sip.  
  
“He got sloppy,” Jack paused turning to Bruce, “he let his emotions guide who he trusted and who he didn't. I will miss dodging those impromptu ass beatings however...”  
  
Bruce snatched the water bottle back with an inquisitive look – purposely falling into Jack's trap.   
Jack laughed, “His goons’ attempts to beat me up. Not that, Jesus, Wayne, I never took you for such a pervert.”  
  
Bruce chuckled as he walked to the sofa. Jack sat next to him, relaxing into the soft leather.   
  
“Do you think he killed her?” Bruce hadn't meant to say the question out loud.   
  
A sucking sound escaped Jack's mouth as he tried to extricate a kernel stuck in his teeth. He stopped midway, leaning towards Bruce.   
  
“If there is one thing I know, it is that you never know what someone is truly capable of until they've been pushed to their limits,” Jack's voice was low, like he was sharing some dark secret, “that's when you see who people really are.”  
  
These little droplets of wisdom Jack sprinkled into conversation made Bruce wonder about his past. It was so Jack, random car wrecks of ideas with pearls of wisdom hidden throughout the twisted metal. He looked at Jack who was flicking white bits of corn into the air and catching them in his mouth. That randomness kept things interesting, Bruce liked it.   
  
“Chinese.”  
  
 _Speaking of random_ , Bruce thought with a laugh. “What?”  
  
“For dinner, let's get Chinese food for dinner. I need Kung Pao Chicken,” Jack smiled at him, placing the empty popcorn bag on the end table to his left.   
  
“That doesn't sound too bad, but I have to study for midterms,” Bruce gestured to the book bag on the kitchen table.   
  
Jack paused, rubbing his chin to look deep in thought.   
  
“Mmm, I guess I should too,” Jack said getting up.   
  
“Where are you going?” Bruce stood as Jack began to walk towards the door.   
  
Jack turned, “I thought you said you had studying to do.”  
  
“Yeah I do, but I thought...”  
  
“You know I'd just distract you,” any innocence was lost from Jacks face, replaced with a devious grin.   
  
Bruce smirked, “you could try to behave.”  
  
Jack sighed loudly, looking like a child being forced to eat vegetables as he walked back to the couch.   
  
He flopped down on the soft leather, “I guess.”  
  
Bruce walked to the counter and grabbed his book bag. He sat down and began concentrating on what would be best to tackle first. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jack doing the same, spreading the contents of the worn army-issued rucksack he used for a bag on the table.   
  
Bruce was immersed in some notes from his Philosophy of Law class when Jack's hand quickly swept up his inner thigh and caressed his crotch.   
  
Bruce jumped, dropping his book on the floor.   
  
“Jack!” Bruce grabbed the book off the floor trying to ignore his body's response.   
  
“Butterfingers,” Jack chuckled.   
  
Bruce was annoyed, he really was...he just couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his face.  
  
He turned to look at Jack whose hands were held up in defense, “I was just thinking we could get the distracting stuff out of the way...”  
  
He inched closer to Bruce, putting his hand back where it had been two seconds ago.   
  
“...then we'd be free to study after,” Jack whispered into Bruce's ear, caressing the fabric with the palm of his hand.   
  
“Jack,” it was a somewhat firm protest, but Bruce knew it was futile. He was already hard and his head was reminding him of amazing experience he had at Jack's hands this morning. He grit his teeth, this was bad...  
  
“Still want to study?”Jack's mouth had stealthily moved to Bruce's neck. The words tickled Bruce's skin and he gave a contented hum in reply. Teeth nipped at Bruce's neck, pinching their way up his jugular. A tongue wet the skin at his jaw and traced a line to his ear. The hand at his crotch worked with knowledge of nights past, making him arch against it with a lust for more contact. The pinch of teeth on his ear lobe made Bruce groan.  
  
Bruce turned quickly and caught Jack's mouth with a hungry kiss. He twisted his fingers in Jack's hair and pulled him closer. He felt Jack's hands curl around his waist and pull him forward. Bruce was happy to comply, falling and pinning Jack beneath him. Jack spread his legs and Bruce groaned as he ground against the hard spot in the dealer's jeans. Jack gripped the belt loops on Bruce's pants and pulled him closer, casually letting one hand slip down and grab the billionaire's ass. Any other time or place, that would have made Bruce stop, but he didn't even notice as he delved deeper into Jack's mouth.   
  
Jack relished in his little victory while his hands groped Bruce like they were two teenagers in the backseat. Getting him while they were already in bed, well, that was easy. But after he ran his errands today he was wondering if he could get into those Ralph Lauren jeans one more time today. Of course, Bruce's face gave it all away – he should never play poker.   
  
_Try to behave? Oh Bruce, you should know me better than that by now._   
  
Jack moved his hips in time with Bruce while enjoying the taste of popcorn blend across each of their tongues. He slid his hands to Bruce's hips, pausing to press into them, before descending his fingers under the fabric of Bruce's shirt. He couldn't catch the sound of pleasure before it escaped his lips, _god damn_. When it came to bodies Wayne was like the Royals Royce of college boys. Jack smirked against Bruce's lips, pondering different car analogies for the different parts of the billionaire's chiseled frame.  Jack's fingers played under the cotton barrier between him and Bruce, tracing muscles with patient but determined fingers. All he cared about was being able to get into the driver’s seat, but that would take some time.  
  
Suddenly Bruce growled in frustration; sitting up, ripping his shirt off and returning his mouth to Jack's with enough force the dealer would have thought it was painful- if it wasn't so damn hot.   
  
_Perhaps this won't take as long as I thought..._  
  
Jack felt Bruce's hands grip the sides of his shirt and he obeyed, lifting his body up so Bruce could pull the shirt off.  
  
Bruce had enough of Jack's teasing; he needed to feel his friend's skin under him. He had been in control until Jack had started playing under his shirt. It was too much. He felt like a kid again, sneaking a girl into his room at prep school. The heated touches, the burning and instinctual urges that told him exactly what should go where. But, this was different in one major way. _..what to go where..._ he didn't want to think about that quite yet. What he did want to think about was snaking his hands under the band of Jack's Levi's and teasing him right back.   
  
Despite the pail color, Jack's skin was soft beneath Bruce's fingers. He teased the crease of muscles where hip met leg, sighing contentedly into Jack's mouth. The dealer moaned and ran his hands along Bruce's back. Jack's hands slid further and began to shimmy between their bodies to get at those illusive Ralph Lauren's at the same time Bruce moved to get to those Levi's.   
  
Their hands tangled together in the process and Bruce couldn't help but laugh. Jack hit one of his hands out of the way and matched his laugher with a loud guffaw.   
  
“Bastard,” Bruce mumbled against Jack's neck as he felt the dealer's hand claim victory, unzipping his fly.   
  
“You'll be changing your tune any second now, Mr. Wayne,” Jack punctuated his sentence with a playful nip on the corner of Bruce's ear.     
  
“Is that so Mr. N – ah!”  
  
Coherent thoughts ceased as Jack enclosed Bruce's erection in his hand. He even forgot about touching Jack, letting his arms go limp. His eyes closed and he buried his face in Jack's neck. The amazing feeling of Jack stroking him in perfect rhythm sank to his core, up his spine, and left his mouth in a jumble of noises he wasn't sure he had ever made before.   
  
The dealer felt like he was losing control. With every stroke Bruce got louder and it lit his nerve-endings on fire. He had never heard something so hot. Plus Bruce's mouth against his neck, it was almost too much to bear. He wanted to roll that privileged boy over and fuck him until his cries shattered the windows.    
  
“Jack, god, Jack. Don't stop. Fuck me.”  
  
 _Fuck me._   
  
Jack didn't have to have his hand down his pants to know he was leaking. Every man had a limit and Jack had reached it. Using all his strength he flipped their bodies so he was on top, quickly crushing his mouth against Bruce's to stop any protest. He pulled Bruce's jeans and underwear off in one clean sweep.   
  
“Jack.”  
  
There was a hint of hesitation on Bruce's face; Jack knew he may have realized what he just said. But he didn't care. Jack formulated a plan as he stripped out of his remaining clothes.   
  
Bruce's heart pounded with every crunch of the leather sofa as Jack crawled on top of him. _Why had he said that?_ Jack's mouth brushed against Bruce's. They kissed and began to rub against one another. Bruce couldn't hold back a moan.  
  
That husky baritone in Jack's ear was driving him closer to the edge with every mumbled sound of pleasure.   
  
Jack wanted to be inside him so badly, to have power over him. That would get him so much closer to his ultimate goal. Jack knew Bruce never let anyone in. Bruce's body language spoke volumes during their first encounters. He liked keeping everything at a distance, people and his emotions. However, if he could make the billionaire open to him physically, entering him emotionally would not be too far behind. Then it would only be a matter of time...  
  
Jack began to thrust harder, the thought of his ultimate goal arousing him in a way the man beneath him never could.    
  
The volume of Bruce's moaning increased as the billionaire lost himself in the situation, uncaring of who may hear. It felt so alien to be this vulnerable with another person. Every time they fooled around, Bruce felt as if he was having an out of body experience. Moments between the heat and sweat filled with hesitation but whenever the feeling crept up, he forced himself more into the moment. He knew this was the only truly selfish act he could ever allow himself. Something that could destroy him if he let it get out of hand.   
  
“Bruce, look at me.”  
  
He had turned away without realizing it, getting temporarily lost in his thoughts.   
  
“Please,” Jack kissed his cheek.  
  
“Don't,” Jack kissed his forehead.  
  
“Think,” Jack kissed his lips.   
  
Bruce silently cursed himself as he kissed Jack back.  
  
“Sorry,” Bruce bit his lip. He couldn't imagine what it must be like having someone distracted while you tried to please them.   
  
Jack tried not to get frustrated as he stared down at Bruce. He kissed Bruce and started to move his hips with a little more force than before.   
  
Bruce pulled his lips away, “Jack.”  
  
The dealer opened his eyes.  
  
“I want to,” Bruce pushed Jack away and maneuvered them both to a sitting position.  
  
“Bruce?” Jack wasn't quite sure what was going on but was overjoyed when Bruce leaned forward and took his cock into that perfect mouth. Jack moaned and ran his fingers through Bruce's hair, resisting the urge to push the head in his lap down and fill the billionaire's throat.   
  
Vibrations surrounded Jack's sensitive flesh as Bruce started to hum.   
  
_Son of a bitch,_ thought Jack. He had tried being patient but this was too much. He had to stop now before he came and missed out on all the fun he had planned.   
  
“Turn around,” Jack tried to make it sound as authoritative as possible.   
  
Bruce looked at him, his cheeks red and lips swollen from kisses, “what?”  
  
His eyes were still a little glazed over from pleasure but Jack could tell the realization of what Bruce interpreted was going to happen was slipping through the haze. He had to be careful here.  
  
“Just lie down on your stomach.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Bruce looked hesitant. Jack put one hand on Bruce's chest and gently pushed him backwards.   
  
“Trust me.”  
  
Jack kissed Bruce in an effort to distract him. Jack lay on top of Bruce, kissing his neck and waiting for an answer. He had to do this right; every step of this had to be Bruce's choice. Jack had to give him the illusion of control.   
  
Finally, Bruce sighed out an “ok” and turned over. Jack did a victory dance with fireworks and pom-poms in his head. Now he just had to get that perfect ass elevated. He slid his hand under Bruce and started to stroke him. It worked like magic, Bruce's hips coming off the couch a little more with every stroke. Jack kissed Bruce's lower back and looked up to see Bruce's eyes on him.   
  
“Don't worry, you're virginity is safe with me... for now.”Jack let out his best sinister laugh.   
  
“Jack I...”  
  
“Head forward, Mister.”  
  
Bruce did as he was told. _At least he was getting a little better at taking orders,_ Jack thought. Now there was only one problem left to solve, lube. Jack grabbed his backpack off the table, hoping he still had some.   
  
Forget about being calm and collected, Bruce was filled with apprehension. Why had he so easily gotten into such a vulnerable position?  
  
A cold substance dripped onto his tail bone, some of it sliding down between his ass. Jack's hand was still working between his legs and Bruce fought with his mind in an effort to focus on the pleasure. _Stop thinking, stop thinking, stop thinking...._  
  
“Do you trust me?” Jack's voice was shaky with need – Bruce knew he was on the edge.   
  
Silence filled the space left by Jack's question. Bruce's head dropped as he thought, but only for a moment.   
  
Jack was many things, a few which made Bruce wary, but he always made sure Bruce was safe. At the parties, Jack kept him under a watchful eye; he avoided him when he thought it would cause Bruce real problems, even something as stupid as insisting he look at his school work before he turned it in. Even in bed, Jack was still looking out for Bruce at every moment. In the end Bruce realized he knew the answer before Jack even asked him the question. He trusted the crazy son of a bitch.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Jack's hand stroked Bruce's sensitive tip as a reward. Suddenly Jack's entire body blanketed his back.   
  
Jack kissed Bruce's neck and ran his hands down the sides of the billionaire's body. Jack pressed his hips down, trapping his dick in the wet circle of lube between their two bodies. It was then Bruce realized that the lube was on his back, and stayed on his back.  Bruce relaxed completely and bucked backwards, knowing his “virginity”, as Jack had put it, was safe.   
  
Jack grunted at the first rush of friction between their bodies. He began to match the motion of their bodies with his hand. Victory was his, at least for today. Bruce said he trusted him. Jack felt a peculiar warmth in his chest. How long had it been since he heard someone say that and meant it? _Take your own fucking advice and don't think_ his father’s voice said.  Jack closed his eyes and buried his face in Bruce's hair. He bucked his hips at a quicker pace, the friction focused low in his shaft. He smiled at the amazing sensation and bit Bruce's neck. Bruce moaned like a slut.   
  
Jack smiled against Bruce's skin.  
  
It didn't take long before both boys were glistening with sweat and moving at a disjointed, frantic pace – desperate to tip over the edge.  
  
“Jack....”  
  
“Come Bruce, come NOW!” Jack growled out the words as he felt his orgasm rip through his body. Jack felt Bruce coming in his hand as the first wave of hot moisture spilled out between their bodies.    
  
Halfway through, Bruce's legs gave way and they both flopped down onto the sofa. The billionaire didn't care about the expensive leather beneath him as he came. Bruce heard Jack flop onto the floor as he tried to catch his breath.   
  
“Nothing like an orgasm to put you in the mood for reading some British Literature,” Jack chuckled.   
  
Bruce turned around to give a sarcastic response to Jack's asinine post coital statement but instead was distracted by the substance covering Jack's cock and abdomen. It was red...  
  
“Jack, what the fuck?”   
  
Bruce reached around to his back and scraped a bit of the substance off. He looked back at Jack who was wearing a smirk that let Bruce know he was not going to like what he found. He sniffed his finger...vinegar?   
  
“Is this fucking ketchup?!”   
  
Bruce knew he should be mad, that was a very expensive couch, plus he was covered in ketchup, but he couldn't stop laughing.   
  
“I was in a pinch! Then I remembered the burger I had for lunch,” Jack said, his laughter combining with Bruce's, “besides, I think it preformed its purpose marvelously”    
  
Bruce stood up, the cold wetness on his back making him laugh harder. He kicked Jack lightly in the leg.   
  
“You're an asshole.”  
  
“Yes, but you're laughing and we just had, if I may say, wonderful sex so I think it all worked out in my favor,” Jack looked up at Bruce from the floor with a shit-eating grin on his face.   
  
Bruce stepped over Jack and moved towards his bedroom. He heard Jack scramble to his feet behind him.   
  
“Where ya goin'?” Jack tried to make his voice sound innocent.   
  
“I was going to go roll around in my bed to get this come and ketchup mixture off my back.”  
  
“Oh really...well if that's your thing...”  
  
Bruce stopped suddenly and turned around, causing Jack to bump into him and coat his front in ketchup. Bruce looked down and sighed.   
  
“Sorry,” Jack laughed.   
  
“I'm going to take a shower, I really need one now,” Bruce laughed, poking Jack in the forehead.  
  
Bruce turned and continued towards the bathroom. He entered and didn't stop Jack, who scooted into the bathroom behind him.   
  
“I'll scrub your back.”  
  
“I somehow don't think you can behave yourself.”  
  
“Oh I got it all out of my system, scouts honor.”  
  
Bruce shut the door behind them, wondering if Jack was the worst thing or the best thing to ever happen to his academic career.  
  



	19. Chapter 19

"Love is our response to our highest values. Love is self-enjoyment. The noblest love is born out of admiration of another's values.”  
  
An obnoxious pink heart surrounded the sentence in Atlas Shrugged. Jack quirked up an eyebrow as he re-read the words. He glanced at the books owner who was currently inhaling a finely diced line of coke through a rolled up twenty, wearing nothing but black panties.  
  
 _Values, right_...he thought shifting his weight on her uncomfortable twin bed. He read the words out loud, just to see her reaction.   
  
“Didn't take you for a romantic, El,” Jack put the book on the egg crate serving as a nightstand.   
  
Ellie threw her head back, sniffing loudly, and then turned to smile at Jack.   
  
“It is just so, “she sniffed again, “fucking deep. You know? Like you really have to love who another person is for it to be the highest love.”  
  
Jack watched Ellie stumble as she tried to get off the floor, making no effort to help her as she toppled back onto the ground. People were really amusing when they were high. They were clumsy and exposed; it was always a great way to check someone's loyalty. This was exactly why he was there.   
  
After a few wobbly steps Ellie fell on top of him with a giggle and started to pull off his shirt.   
  
“I like your values,” she sniffed again as Jack let her pull his shirt off.   
  
She started kissing his stomach, “let me pay you back for the candy.”   
  
Jack lay on the bed and let her fumble over his upper body until it became more annoying than hot.   
  
“Ellie,” he kissed her forehead, “there is something I need to talk to you about first.”  
  
She looked up at him with glassy eyes. Her lipstick smeared across her cheek during her fondling of Jack's chest. The red smeared over Jack's abdomen, looking like a fresh incision.   
  
It took a second for the words to get through her drug saturated mind. Finally, her head tilted to the side and she gave him a vacant smile, “mm-kay.”  
  
Ellie rolled off his stomach to the other side of the bed with a giggle. Jack calmed himself with the reminder that she was an intricate part of his plans. So he adopted her current state of mind and tickled her sides like a 12-year-old. She squealed and kissed him. Jack rolled on top of her and looked at his prey. She really was beautiful, raven curls framing her pale skin and dramatic brown eyes. She was also amazing in bed, extremely submissive and very enthusiastic. He could take her now and ask questions later...  
  
The thought was tempting but not nearly as tempting as wrapping his hands around that beautiful neck and squeezing. Violence was always a last resort and killing her here would be stupid. He needed to find a few things out first.   
  
“Jack?”  
  
A flicker of fear went across Ellie's face and it put Jack's mind at ease. She should be scared.  Jack smiled sweetly and pulled her in for a kiss. He pulled back enough to whisper into her ear.  
  
“I heard you were talking to people about Adrian at a party last night.”  
  
God dammit, her body stilled and Jack knew the rumor was true. _Stupid bitch._ Thankfully he hadn't been stupid enough to be seen with her aside from the occasional sale.   
  
“He's dead.”  
  
“Yes. I know.”  
  
“Did you kill him?”  
  
“No, _I_ didn't not kill him.”  
  
He gently rubbed her cheek with his thumb as he continued to whisper. While his other hand squeezed her opposite shoulder.  
  
“What did you say about him Ellie?”  
  
“I was upset. I didn't say anything. Just that he was a nice guy.”   
  
Her response was quick enough to make Jack think it was true. Plus that was exactly what his source had told him she had said. But, better safe than sorry.   
  
Jack maneuvered off her and stood by the bed. He put his hands on his hips and looked down at her, feeling satisfied.   
  
“Lamenting losing someone you fucked?” Jack smiled. She looked confused now, but the fear was still evident in the way her hand fidgeted with the side of her underwear.   
  
Ellie sat up, anger distorting her pretty features, “I only fucked him because you told me to!”  
  
Jack touched her cheek, an empty act of reassurance, “I also told you not to talk about it.”  
  
“I got upset,” Ellie's eyes slid close and she leaned into Jack's touch and her voice became filled with need, “I promise I won't do it again.”  
  
 _Well that sounded sincere enough,_ Jack thought, taking into account she was high as a kite. All things considered she had done her job beautifully, pretending to be his jilted lover to gain Adrian’s trust so she could help him fall into Jack’s trap.  A few green packets and voila!  Goodbye obstacle to Bruce. The fact of the matter wasn’t sure if he was done with her yet.  All he could do but keep giving her a healthy reminder of what might happen should she mess up.  
  
Ellie trailed kisses up Jack's forearm to his chest. She looked up at him with blood shot eyes, “come back to bed.”  
  
Jack kissed her briefly, “I have to go; Bruce thinks I'm taking the Sociology final.”  
  
Ellie continued to try and kiss him, even as he half-attempted to pull away. She flung her arms around his neck and giggled, pulling him down onto the bed.  
  
“I've got two good reasons for you to stay,” Ellie cooed.   
  
His face landed into her ample supply of cleavage and he agreed she made a very convincing argument.  
  
 _Oh well, what Bruce won't know won't hurt him._   
  



	20. Chapter 20

Rosemary trembled, about to pull back the sheets to look at the child of Satan that had come from her own womb. The eerie music swelled, the camera panned in closely on the crib, and one small demon hand reached up to clutch the toy his mother held in front of him.   
  
The television might have well been showing scenes from the Westminster Dog show. Bruce's eyes focused beyond the glow of the screen. He was doing the very thing Jack hadn't wanted him to do, think. But after what happened this afternoon he couldn't help it...   
  
Jack suggested they go back to his place for lunch so he could cram in more studying for his sociology final. Bruce didn't understand why Jack needed to study; he could probably talk his teacher in circles if he wanted to.   
  
“Is that a compliment Brucie?”  
  
Bruce let out a noise of surprised as Jack’s hand grabbed his butt and dropped the bottle of water he was holding on the floor.   
  
“Ha, ha, very funny,” said Bruce, bending over to pick up the bottle.       
  
Jack kicked Bruce in the thigh hard enough to make him loose his balance and fall onto the kitchen floor. He jumped on top of Bruce and scooped the bottle up from where it had fallen.   
  
“I thought you had to study.”  
  
“I am. Right now I'm using my powers of observation to see how the lower class responds to pressure by the higher class,” Jack said holding the bottle up to emphasize his point.   
  
“I think we'll go with force.” It only took a few quick movements for Bruce to pin Jack down and pluck the water from his hand. He cracked it open and took a sip.  
  
“Ah – victory is sweet,” Bruce smiled down at Jack.   
  
Jack laughed, “Ok that was cheesy. Promise me you won't touch the marketing department at your company.”  
  
“I can see it now,” Bruce laid out the invisible advertisement in front of him, “Wayne Industries - - we make really good stuff.”   
  
Both men erupted into laughter.   
  
Jack started rattling off other clever catch phrases for Bruce's distant empire. It wasn't until Jack arched up against him for emphasis that Bruce noticed the dealer was hard. He started to dismount Jack's hips when hands held him to the spot.   
  
Bruce looked down to see the heat in Jack's eyes that caught him this morning, and the night before that, and the day before that... he was afraid he was going to get consumed by it.   
  
The heat from Jack's eyes were already seducing Bruce's subconscious and getting him hard.   
  
“I thought you had to study,” a half-hearted attempt to put out the flames.   
  
“I thought you said I already knew it all.”  
  
Jack brought his lips to Bruce's with almost violent force. A stifled moan filled the air but Bruce couldn't tell who the nose came from. Bruce fell backward, landing with a soft squish into a puddle of water – he didn't even remember dropping the bottle.   
  
Bruce closed his eyes as they undressed and thought of the wetness on his back. He tried to empty his mind and not think about this or how frequent these coupling between them had become. Somewhere inside of him the box his emotions purred as the sweet drug that was Jack coursed through his system making his heart race and his body ache.   
  
Afterwards they laid on the cool floor, staring up at the ceiling in silence. Bruce didn't mind it. Silence with Jack was different. He knew the boy's brain was always working, strategically trying to figure out this game called life. He always found it amusing that Jack wanted him to stop thinking when that was all Jack did.   
  
The thought of going down on Jack in front of his stove was originally what had pulled Bruce's attention away from the TV. The news scroll on the bottom of the screen kicked something Jack had said before he left to the front of his brain.   
  
“Money doesn't make the world go round Bruce; it's more complicated than that.”  
  
They were eating hastily made sandwiches in front of the TV after mopping up their mess on the kitchen floor and almost having round two on the counter.   
  
A news story about a crime boss getting out of jail had caught their attention. After some discussion of the man himself Bruce remarked that it was his money that probably bought him out of jail.  
  
“Ah well, yes, that is how it goes but it's more than that,” Jack started in a tone of voice that let Bruce know he was about to get another lesson in the world of crime. Sometimes he asked and sometimes the topics came up on their own. In the time they'd known each other Bruce had learned a lot about the other side of the law. As fascinated as he was by it, there was a part of him that wished Jack didn't know these things.    
  
“See that's where most people get this game wrong. You can't just have one thing and expect to rise to the top you need to have a combination of things,” he paused to think, “Money doesn't make the world go round, Bruce, it’s more complicated than that.”  
  
Bruce tried to ignore the twinge of anger at Jack's comment. Somehow the discussion of crime always managed to burrow deep into Bruce and bring out the anger from his parents murder years ago. He alluded to the story sitting on the couch with Jack weeks ago. It was something he never talked about with anyone but yet talking with Jack about it seemed almost therapeutic. Maybe it was because Bruce knew Jack understood the other side, maybe he was hoping that through Jack's knowledge he could find answers or solutions...something to take away the chill of that winter evening he still felt on his skin.   
  
“Well, explain it to me.”  
  
Jack paused as he put the soda he was drinking on the coffee table before turning to Bruce.  
  
“Explaining the whole hierarchy of things is just pointless because he only thing you need to know is this. To get to the top you need two things,” Jack held up his fingers,” money and power.”  
  
“Some people would say they go together,” Bruce commented.   
  
“Well yes and no. There are lots of people here with a decent amount of money and I'm sure they could buy someone to shake things up if need be.  However, there are some people who even if they were poor as dirt you would listen to and extraordinarily wealthy people who you couldn't give a shit about. What's missing there is that power, that control. If you have both, you're pretty much unstoppable.”  
  
Jack turned towards the TV.   
  
“Take our friend here for instance. Not exactly a looker. Does he have money, yeah, probably. But look at that guy, people respect him. They don't think he's a _freak_.”  
  
“What would make people think that?”  
  
“You know what I mean, you know what I mean,” Jack waved off the question.  
  
“Yeah, but,” Bruce thought for a second, “Most people who get both seem to do the wrong things with it.”  
  
Jack stood up and grabbed his book bag off the floor, “stimulating conversation as always, I've got to go.”  
  
With a salute and a wink, probably for the naked wrestling that took place on the kitchen floor, Jack left Bruce alone with his thoughts.   
  
Hours later, Bruce turned Jack's words over in his head. His parent tried to help the ailing Gotham but it had only struck them down in the end.   
  
What Jack had inferred about power sounded more suspect as Bruce replayed the conversation in his head. Was the only way to fight the evil out there was to use something else out of the darkness? Bruce couldn't ignore a hint of logic behind what Jack said. It seemed too extreme. There had to be something...in between.  
  
A loud noise outside pulled Bruce out of his mind. He stood and looked out the window to see several students yelling as they approached the building. The more Bruce studied the group the more he realized it was less like a group of students and more like an angry mob. Their collective negative energy was focused on one person sprinting across the lawn towards the front door.   
  
Bruce turned from the window and started for the door. That long bed-tussled hair, the stride, and the horribly mismatched clothes. By the sound of the crowd closing in Jack was in real trouble this time. Bruce stopped by the counter, squeezing his keys in his hand at the passing thought of how much Jack had been in his mind. It was just a moment, and then he was running out the door one click of his watch later.   
  



	21. Chapter 21

“Napier, stop!”  
  
Jack looked back for just a moment at the mob approaching him. It was comprised of men and women, mostly from the richer part of Princeton’s student body. Let it never be said that beating up Jack Napier was a sexist affair. Jack tried to speed up and reach the door in time. Although he doubted the security guard would come out to help.  
  
A large hand crushed Jack's forearm.   
  
_Dammit, caught right before the door. The Flash would be so disappointed,_ Jack mused as he turned towards the mob.   
  
“If I said, I was planning on being a model would that stop you from hitting me?”  
  
Jack barely dodged the bowling ball sized fist aimed at his head. Nails scratched across his face as he avoided the punch.  
  
“You killed him!”  
  
“Now, now,” Jack said grabbing the girl's wrist before it came down on his face again, “usually a girl has to buy me dinner before she gets to do something like that.”   
  
Jack ducked as he heard the words, “you son of a ...” Seconds later, a fist collided with the side of his skull. The crunching of bones sounded like music to Jack's ears, the dumbass broke something for sure. Jack fell to the ground from the force of the blow, laughing as he met the pavement. He could feel more students closing in.   
  
“You know this is like a scene from a bad horror flick,” Jack smiled up at the irate mob, “like right before the zombies devour their -”  
  
Jack blocked a punch.   
  
“- victims.”   
  
A high heel caught Jack on the shoulder; he grabbed the foot and admired the shoe in his grasp.   
  
“You've got good taste – let's trade shopping tips sometime.”  
  
The girl wrenched her foot free with a look of disgust, “go to hell – freak.”  
  
All good humor slid from Jack's face, leaving an expression that made the girl's eyes grow wide with fear.   
  
“I'm not a freak.”  
  
Jack looked up and thought he saw his father dressed in a letterman’s jacket chanting with the crowd. “Freak, freak, freak!” Tripping on every substance known to man he'd lock Jack-y boy in a closet. Yes reading made him a freak, being able to do basic math made him a freak – anything other than being to hawk drugs. His family wasn't exactly the functional version of fucked up he painted for Bruce. But he did what he had to in order to get the right images across. Besides he'd grown since then, he didn't kill people who called him freak. Maybe he could just hurt them enough so they'd see what a 'freak' could do. Feet and fists started coming at Jack from every direction, preventing him from getting his switchblade out of his pocket and carving a piece that bitch in heels.   
  
_Attack of the Trust Fund Zombies!_ The title spat out of Jack's subconscious and he couldn't help but laugh at the different points on his body that radiated with pain.   
  
“What is wrong with you Napier?”  
  
“Stop laughing!”  
  
“He's fucking crazy.”  
  
“Stop it!”  
  
The last voice made some of the appendages stop colliding with Jack's body. It was the first time Jack was unhappy to hear Bruce's voice. He knew his plans had gotten sloppy and now he was going to have to explain. Bruce wasn't stupid. No doubt he'd already put two and two together. Jack just needed to make him believe it was worth trusting a murderer.  Ok he hadn’t exactly killed Adrian; he just put him in a situation where someone else could kill him easily.   
  
Most of the crowd backed away when they heard Bruce's voice. It wasn't hard for Bruce to push past the rest of them to the center.   
  
“Jesus Christ.”  
  
Jack was sitting on the ground and smiling up at him with a bloody smile, “hey there handsome.”  
  
Bruce couldn't believe Jack was smiling in his current condition; blood covered the side of his head and the skin that was showing had started to swell. Bruce clenched his jaw, that anger was coming back – the anger that would eat him up inside sometime. The anger that had been festering since his parents' death. Now someone else was hurt, someone he could have protected had he paid closer attention.   
  
“Don't go near him Bruce, he's a monster!”  
  
Jack let out a comical growl.   
  
“Adrian is dead and it's his fault!”  
  
Bruce felt his blood run cold as he helped Jack to his feet. He didn't respond to the additional jabs made by the crowd as he helped Jack inside. He didn't hear Jack talking about some new horror movie he was going to make about his experience. All he heard was his mind thinking. He'd made a mistake not thinking all this time. Now it was difficult not to see how closely connected Jack was with this most recent “accident.”   
  
The apartment door closed and Bruce went through the motions. Putting his keys in the dish on the counter, throwing his jacket onto a nearby chair and giving Jack a nod when the he asked to use Bruce's shower. Jack told him not to think but now Bruce had to let his mind run. He lay on his bed and tried to piece together what he would say when Jack got out of the shower.   
  



	22. Chapter 22

Jack stepped out of the shower and tried to stifle the voice inside him saying somewhere something had gone very wrong. It wasn't like he couldn't fix anything that may have gone wrong. This is what Jack did best. When killing Julie, daughter of local drug competitors, didn't go the way he had planned, he had Ellie nudge Napier to frame him. Then Napier's death, well, that had probably been Cesar's call. What could had been a very glorious fuckup turned into a great way to eliminate someone in his way. If things were messed up because of this then he had to think on his feet, pick up the pieces and reassemble the puzzle. Easy peaszy.   
  
But one thing ate away at Jack - he was scared of losing Bruce.   
  
This connection between him and Wayne was actually the cause of all of his current problems. He'd rushed Julie's death because he wanted to get back to Bruce. He hadn't kept a better eye on Ellie’s interactions with Napier because he was spending so much time with Bruce. She wasn't trustworthy enough to stay alive much longer. This whole thing had gotten a lot messier than he anticipated in more ways than one.   
  
It's not like he couldn't start over again at another school under another name. That was one of the easiest options. But things were so perfect here. Bruce was perfect. When he could get Bruce to accept his point of view on life they could go back to Gotham and rule that city together, with the perfect balance of wealth and power. Then, maybe, they could dissect whatever it was going on between them. But Jack had to finish his plan first. He had to try to keep it together until then.   
  
*****  
  
Bruce sat on the side of the bed closest to the bathroom door with his head in his hands. The entire time Jack was in the shower he kept talking circles in his head. He couldn't jump to conclusions about Jack. He was eccentric and a little bit of a risk taker, but that's what made Jack who he was. Bruce wouldn't enjoy his company if he was any other way.   
  
But two people around him seemed to have wound up dead in the past few months. Not a fact Bruce could deny without feeling foolish.   
  
But he was Jack, dammit, he was...he was...  
  
Which eventually lead Bruce back to the troublesome thought of where Jack exactly fit into his life. They were friends, of that Bruce was certain. He felt more at home in his apartment with Jack than he ever had with Alfred at Wayne manor.   
  
But they had gotten, well, _physical_ , Bruce pressed his fingertips into his forehead to ease the headache he felt coming on. All he focused on until now was that this thing between them made him feel _good_ because that's all he could think about without feeling like he was going nuts. That time in Amsterdam was a fluke. At least Bruce thought it was at the time. Jack was a guy, he was a guy, but sure enough they ended up in bed together every night for the past month.   
  
He wanted to ask Jack about what happened, what was really going on. But he knew the moment he did that any glossy finish this situation had would be stripped away. It, this, them, would be real. Moreover he was scared of what Jack would say. Bruce thought he knew him well enough to expect an honest response if he asked him point blank. He thought for a moment, he never had just asked him what happed the night of that party.   
  
He didn't want to know. It was that simple.   
  
What this was had to stay vague. _This_ could stay at school, they could continue _this_ up until he graduated or left but that would be it. It couldn't follow him back to Gotham. It was risking too much. Bruce sneered, were those really his thoughts or the thoughts the heads of Wayne Inc would want him to think? The company really had that much of a stranglehold on him; he couldn’t even feel for himself anymore.  
  
As a result of his social status he'd tried so hard to compartmentalize his emotions and make them appropriate to whatever situation he was in he took cues from those around him and adjusted himself accordingly. It had got to the point that he was running auto pilot. If someone told a joke, he'd laugh, if something tragic happened he'd feign sadness. It was the same with Jack at the beginning. But somewhere along the lines laughs became real, sympathy for Jack's past was genuine, and smiles were no longer forced. It was the first true connection Bruce had since he was six years old.   
  
It was wonderful to live in the world he and Jack created, resting high above it all in Bruce's penthouse. He didn't want to let it all go. But everything that just happened shook him off of his high perch and left him struggling to hold onto the ledge. If Jack did something to cause either one of those deaths...he couldn't sit back and let him walk. It was the same situation as the man who killed his parents. All it would take would be one admission of guilt and it would be all over.   
  
He and Jack would be all over.   
  
*****  
  
Jack splashed cold water on his face at the sink and gripped the granite counter top until his knuckles turned white. His exhausted eyes looked back at him in the mirror, focusing on the bruises around his face.  Sometime between stripping out of his clothes and standing at the sink he'd cried. He hadn't known until he felt extra moisture clinging to his cheeks after he toweled off his face.   
  
He could see his father standing behind him, shaking his head in disappointment. It was disgusting. He looked just like a ten year old again. Mopping tears off his bused face after another round around the house with dad - or mom. They both enjoyed punishing their “mistake.”  
  
 _Mistake._ Jack had to turn away from his reflection.  
  
He noticed Bruce's sweat pants folded beside the sink with a tube of antiseptic cream placed on top. The billionaire must have brought them in while he was in the shower. _I wonder how he feels being the butler._ Jack thought unscrewing the top of the antiseptic and applying it trying not to cause more pain in the process.  
  
The mix of red and purple on his face reminded him of a picture he'd seen in sociology class earlier that week. The top heavy professor held up a picture that reminded Jack of a very vivid acid trip he'd had when he had gotten into his parents stash as a kid. She said it was a depiction of chaos. Apparently, according to her, something small can change the course of events forever. Then she said something about a butterfly flapping and some houses getting destroyed in the process. All in all, one of the more interesting classes Jack had chosen to attend. What had stuck in his mind was the thought that people really have no control of the outcome of situations. Which Jack thought was ridiculous. But the thought of setting things into motion and watching the chips fall where they may was interesting, very interesting.   
He had always been such a planner. It had gotten him far but these past few months had gone better than he could have hoped for. Most of his good fortune was due to things out of his control and his ability to adapt to as situation.   
  
Maybe letting chaos take the wheel for a little while wouldn't be such a bad idea. Like an experiment. He'd walk out into that room and just see what happened.   
  
Jack's heart sunk and he pounded his fist on the counter. _Snap out of it!_ Sure, being with Bruce was actually fun – better than anyone else he'd spent his time with. But getting all broken up over this was a rookie mistake. He could control this, he was going to walk out there and keep it together.   
  
*****  
  
The bathroom door opened and both men locked eyes. They stood in silence for a few moments, still wrestling with their thoughts. Unknown to the other, both made the same decision at that moment.   
  
With a few quick steps, they met and fell into each other's arms. Lips pressed tightly together, they made their way to the bed, leaving pieces of clothing in their wake. Bruce fell backward on to the soft comforter and Jack straddled his hips.   
  
Their hands skimmed every part of each other; caressing, mapping, remembering. Storing all of the information in a place they wouldn't lose it. Both knew, whatever this joyous fucked-up situation was, it was temporary.   
  
“Jack...”  
  
Bruce watched as Jack slid to his knees and swallowed him whole. The bedding bunched in tight cords around Bruce's fist as he sat captive to Jack's experienced tongue.   
  
“Jack,” Bruce tugged Jack's head away, “not...what I want.”  
  
Jack understood and made his way to the bedside table to grab the lube he’d stored there days before in wishful thinking. Bruce moved to the middle of the bed and stared at the ceiling. Just as quickly as Jack had left he returned and kissed him.  
  
He was in way over his head here. But, he was with Jack and somehow that eased his anxiety over the step they were taking. _I trust him_ , Bruce thought and his heart felt heavy because they didn't have _the talk_. They should talk about everything that had happened before they did this. He needed to know. He broke away from the kiss and looked into Jack's eyes.   
  
“Jack,” – _fuck,_ his voice was shaking.   
  
“No,” Jack held Bruce's face in his hands. He lied with every ounce of determination in his body. He didn't want the truth to stop this. Not coming clean now may ruin everything. But somehow, this had become more important than the game. He'd tangled himself in the sticky web of lies he'd woven around Bruce and struggling against it anymore would suffocate him. He may wake tomorrow feeling differently but for right now he needed this connection. A moment not manipulated or contrived for once in his life. Inside his head his father’s voice said he didn't deserve it. Maybe he didn't. But he could try to make this the best for both of them.    
  
Bruce pulled Jack into his arms with a sigh. His denial sank into his mind and filled the hole left by his earlier apprehension. The response could have meant anything but Bruce was happy to let it click into place exactly where he wanted it to fit.  Jack's lips were there again, reminding him why he was in this situation in the first place. Here he could just lie in the warmth of the sheets and let everything else fade away. Jack didn't expect him to be a CEO, a Wayne, or even pass his lit exam. He just wanted Bruce.  
  
This was different than the other times they had been together. Not just because of where it was going to go, but how they acted. Silence surrounded them, broken only by the occasional gasp or the squeak of the bed under them. Red marks their hands left on one another seemed to take an eternity to fade into pink and then finally camouflage itself against the color of their skin.   
  
Jack looked at Bruce as they came together and wondered if this was what Buddhist talked about when they spoke of Nirvana. Focusing only on one thing and completely emptying your mind of everything else. He was no longer the drug dealer, the beaten child, the schemer. Everything melted away but flesh and bone. If he could concentrate this feeling into a pill and sell it on the street, he'd be a millionaire. There were things that claimed to be close to it Ecstasy, heroin, salvia... but there was no way of something artificial could recreate this.  
  
Bruce couldn't keep his eyes open. Every time he opened them and saw Jack on top of him he wanted to say things, stupid things. Things he shouldn't feel like saying.  His mind's arguments sounded like static coming from a busted TV in a neglected apartment. Jack's eyes were turned upward as he gasped for breath, his hands stabling himself on Bruce's abdomen. Beautiful. A chuckle that sounded like a certain nosy butler echoed in the back of his mind. Bruce couldn't help but smile in response. _Beautiful, eh?_   Gone, he was completely, fucking, gone.   
  
There was a part of them that wanted to race towards the edge and strangle bliss. Instead their pace was playful, with one rushing ahead of the other but always slowing to allow the straggler to catch up. This was someplace they could hide and they didn't want to give it up as quickly as their bodies wanted them to.   
  
The inevitability of the edge eventually overtook them as their strangled cries echoed through the room. Bodies still intertwined, silence returned as both understood their shelter was gone and they wondered if they would be homeless in the morning.   
  



	23. Chapter 23

Socks, top row, third drawer on the left.

T-shirts, bottom row, center.

Sweats, bottom row, second draw on the right.

Jack wasn’t surprised to find everything where he had left it last time he’d poked around the billionaires personal belongings. Back then he’d needed a place to hide his stash before the cops searched his place and Bruce’s was perfect. No cop would even think to search there. His initial once over after he let himself in was boring; nothing of interest and no good hiding spots. But when he made his search more thorough he stumbled across that stubborn loose board under the couch _and_ Bruce’s journal.

Before he found the scribbled confessions of the billionaire Jack really thought their relationship would be a friendship filled with unresolved sexual tension. Now here he was rifling through Bruce’s things after a night of toe curling good sex with the man himself. He would pat himself on the back if Bruce wasn’t watching.

He started going through Bruce’s things as a way to busy his hands during the awkward morning after, “so…um…do you want breakfast” conversation.  The real reason he looked around was to return to an object he found weeks ago. 

Jack made his way to the place as casually as he could. Finally he opened the top center drawer and pushed aside a collection of ties.  Jack picked up the pouch and held it over his shoulder.

“May I?”

“If I said no would that stop you?” Bruce laughed.

“For the time being, but, I could always poke around when you weren’t looking.”

Inside the pouch was a small vintage lighter. The shine had worn off from use in the spots where a thumb and forefinger would hold it. Jack flicked the top open and lit it.

“I didn’t think you smoked.”

“I don’t. It belonged to my father.” Bruce’s smile left his face and he turned to face the window.

Jack slapped the lighter shut and put it back in its place, positive that forcing further conversation about it was a bad idea. He quietly slid the drawer shut and turned to Bruce.

“Breakfast?”

Bruce nodded in agreement and got out of bed, hissing slightly as the cold bit at his naked body. He slid his jeans on and went to the kitchen to see Jack already getting things out of the fridge.  The conversation about his father’s lighter was the most they talked all morning.  He didn’t know what to say. 

Jack chopped vegetables while Bruce beat the eggs and prepped the pan. Making breakfast was as seamless as every other interaction they had. Each man understood their strengths and used their knowledge to compensate for each others’ weaknesses.  Bruce watched the stovetop because Jack had little experience cooking and Jack’s hands were quick and steady with a knife so he did the prep work.

Conversation came with breakfast.  Jack sat on the countertop while Bruce stood with his hip against the washing machine.   By the time they were back in Bruce’s bedroom it was like the silence of the morning hadn’t happened. 

“Got some stuff to take care of,” Jack said slipping on the clothes he wore the night before. Bruce remembered the talk they didn’t have last night at the sight of the bloodstains on Jack’s clothes.

“Listen, Jack, what happened yesterday…”

Jack sat down on the bed next to Bruce, raising his eyebrows slightly.

“Ok, I know you tell me not to think but too much has happened for me _not_ to think.”

Jack stared at his feet, “I know.”

“So that mob, were they wrong?”

“I didn’t kill him. Although Cesar may have had something to do with it.”

“Why?”

“That girl who died was related to a rival gang member. If he didn’t do it, they did.”

“Why did she get killed?”

He didn’t want to lie to Bruce. The realization hit Jack like a punch in the chest. The game was all about lying, about pitting people against themselves and watching it play out. But now, when it was most crucial, he couldn’t lie. Instead he turned to his father’s tried and true technique of avoidance – anger.

Jack stood up and started pacing, “I don’t know. Sometimes people just do things we don’t understand but they just are the right thing to do. Like last night. Do I fully understand what we did what we did? No. But it felt right. More right than anything I’ve done in my life. “

He was yelling now.

“Things are not as black and white as you were taught to believe Bruce. I thought after all these conversations we had you’d understand that. “

“Well _not thinking_ and blind ignorance are two different things. What we did last night was not thinking. But ignoring the fact that everything you touch seems to fall apart is just stupid.”

Jack made a sound of disgust, “in case you weren’t paying attention I said something pretty fucking profound a few seconds ago. I also said I didn’t kill Napier.  When you let someone in you have to take the good and the bad. I’m not perfect…you’re no fucking diamond either.”

Jack stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.


	24. Chapter 24

Dorms were so much noisier than The Palace. Thankfully after the cops sized his room Ellie let him shack up with her. Most of the time she was out getting high with friends and not around. So he didn’t have _that_ to deal with. But the herd of buffalos doing the electric slide upstairs, he could do without.

Jack pushed his books to the floor. _Why am I even bothering?_

He hadn’t seen Bruce since he stormed out of his apartment three days ago.  The distance was good. He got derailed with everything that had happened between them.  He used the time to regroup. He was upset Bruce didn’t come to kiss and make up no need to dwell on why but he was going to think of something soon, hopefully.

Until then he’d just keep telling himself the entire situation was under his control.

*****

_I’m out of control._

The thought floated through Bruce’s consciousness as he came into the balled up t-shirt wrapped tightly around his cock. He fell back onto the bed and closed his eyes. How many times had that been? The last time he was in the shower and remembered Jack sucking on him while the warm water splashed on his skin.  This time he’d found a shirt with Jack’s scent on it.

He was never like this. Sure, he got off regularly, but it wasn’t something he did in the middle of the afternoon. It was something done at the night time, with all the lights off, quietly. He’d been anything but quiet this time. It only took a few thrusts before he was mouthing Jack’s name. Then mouthing turned to speaking and speaking turned to shouting. It escalated until he could feel the muscles in his neck strain as he cried out Jack’s name while he came.

That night with Jack had ripped open the box inside of him where he stored everything he’d felt for the past decade. The day after Jack walked out had been hell. Bruce spent hours feeling everything at a magnified intensity: his parent’s death, his isolated childhood, and Jack. He finally cried himself to sleep feeling ashamed and confused for wishing Jack was there to hold him.

_“When you let someone in you have to take the good and the bad.”_

Jack had been right. Despite their efforts to keep this relationship superficial they had each let the other inside. The odd thing was their good and bad mixed well together. Jack helped Bruce add more adventure to his life and Bruce helped calm Jack, as much as he could be calmed. His bad, honestly was not that bad. Bruce actually admired how Jack refused to live by others rules.  He’d always put on a defiant act but Jack succeeded where he couldn’t because at the end of the day Jack just didn’t care. He had never given Bruce a reason not to trust him.

The fight was a result of him forgetting that and believing a mob over his…boyfriend? Bruce’s mind stumbled over each syllable of the word. Was that what they were to each other? If it felt that weird to think, it would be even weirder to say. Thankfully Jack wasn’t into labels.

_“More right than anything else I’ve done in my life.”_

It was pretty fucking profound thing Jack had said. He honestly couldn’t believe someone who played that close to the chest actually shown his hand.

Bruce shook his head to clear it from those cluttered thoughts. What they were to each other wasn’t important right now. What was important was apologizing to Jack for not believing him and Bruce knew just how to do it.

He picked up the phone and dialed Jacks’ number.

Several long rings passed and Bruce felt a touch of panic that Jack wasn’t going to answer.

“Hello, you’ve reached the room of Jackson Jackelton the Third I am currently unavailable right now…”

“Jackson Jackelton huh? Pretty fancy. I thought you came from the poor side of town.”

“Nope I’m actually the prince of Italy - bonjourno.”

“Hey, listen - I ordered some Chinese food and they gave me way too much. I was wondering if you…”

Jack’s laughter cut him off, “apology accepted, I’ll be there in a minute. By the way I do a stunning impression of the arch duke of England. Would you like to hear it?”

Jack started on a monologue about tea kettles and knickers in a British accent. Bruce cut him off, “just get over here.”

Bruce hung up the phone and grabbed the phonebook in his bed stand to order Chinese. Jack would be pissed if he got there and there really wasn’t any food. Underneath the phonebook was the small bottle of lube Jack used the night before. Bruce remembered the sensation of entering Jack for the first time and blushed. He bit his lip. Food now, there would be time for that later. Jack would probably make a make-up sex joke as soon as he walked through the door.

The phone rang and Bruce assumed it was the prince of Italy giving him a parting jab.

He answered, “Ok, seriously no dumplings for you if you keep this up.”

“Bruce?”

“Rachel – this is a surprise.”

“Bruce, we need to talk.”


	25. Chapter 25

Jack skipped into the elevator of Bruce’s building whistling Symphony number five. He paused in front of the elevator to catch his breath.

Maybe skip-whistling should be the newest fitness craze.

Maybe investing in spandex would be a good idea.

Maybe he pulled his leg going up those damn steps in the courtyard.

Whatever it was, it didn’t matter because Bruce had called and they had made up – sort of. Jack wasn’t the kind for long drawn out apologies and he was sure Bruce wasn’t either. They’d eat some Chinese, screw each other senseless, and consider it a fresh start.

He knocked on Bruce’s door, still humming.

A loud crash followed by a thud sounded behind the door.

“Bruce?” Jack’s heart stopped. Did one of the preppies have the balls to break into his boyfr- Bruce’s apartment to pay the billionaire back for intervening in the fight earlier? _Freudian slip there_ , Jack assured himself, checking to see if he had a knife on him, _won’t happen again_.

His call was answered with the sound of breaking glass.

 _Ok time for being polite is over._ Jack unlocked the door with a copy of Bruce’s key a client made for him.

“Bruce?”

“Bedroom.”

Jack cautiously stepped into the bedroom and saw where the first loud crash had come from. One of the draws from Bruce’s armoire was sideways; its contents tumbled out haphazardly onto the floor. Bruce quickly removed clothes out of the draw and threw them into a suitcase on his bed.

“Bruce what –“ Jack felt a crunch under his sneaker and looked down to see broken glass. His eyes followed the trail to the small chunk of plaster missing from the wall. Lying on the floor was a picture frame.  Jack walked over and picked it up. A young couple smiled through the shattered glass. He didn’t know who it was until he noticed the man’s eyes – there was no mistaking this was Bruce’s father. He’d never noticed this photo before, which meant Bruce had it hidden somewhere Jack hadn’t looked yet - sneaky.

Bruce said nothing to Jack as he threw items into the suitcase in front of him. Judging by the array of clothing Bruce shoved into the case, Jack was pretty sure he wasn’t paying attention. 

Jack looked up from the picture.  A part of him wanted to make a joke about Chinese food hidden in Bruce’s drawers but the rational part of him took hold.

“Bruce, what is going on?”

Bruce didn’t answer at first, franticly pulling items from different draws and stuffing them into his suitcase. Bruce slammed the suitcase shut. He stayed with his hands pressed on the top of the case, staring into the blue material.

“You know what? You were right all along Jack. The system _is_ broken.”

It was the first time Bruce looked at Jack since the boy entered the room. His eyes were red and his cheeks flushed. Had he been crying? There was a look of sadness and defeat in his eyes that made Jack want to reach out to him. But all he could do was offer the broken picture to Bruce. He took the picture from Jack, shaking the remaining broken glass out of the frame. 

“The guy who killed my parents,” Bruce paused squeezing the frame, “The scumbag who shot them in an alley…they’re… they’re letting him out of jail with a reduced sentence so he can testify against some mob boss.”

Bruce started to pace, as he relayed his phone conversation with Rachel, occasionally turning away from Jack to wipe his eyes.

“My parents gave everything to that city and this is how they are repaid.  I can’t count how many people looked into my eyes at their funeral telling me how sorry they were when they didn’t even fucking know them. They knew the name, they knew our money – they all said it was such a big fucking loss for Gotham. But after they left the grave yard the parties resumed and things returned to business as usual.”

Bruce turned back to his suitcase opened it and stared at the contents.

“So you’re leaving?”Jack hated how final those words sounded. He sat on the bed next to Bruce’s suitcase and started thinking of how to get this strange turn of events to work in his favor or at least figure some way to stop it from separating them.

“I have to. Last time I just stood there. This time I’m going to try and do _something_. Someone has to stand there and represent my parents at this hearing.”

Jack felt a shiver go down his spine. This was too good to be true – better than anything he could have planned. Even with all of the swirling mess around them and the times he fucked it up, here was the conclusion he’d been waiting for so long to arrive. Perhaps there was some merit to the chaos theory after all.

He leaned towards Bruce and whispered, “You can do a lot more than that.”

Jack could see the wheels in Bruce’s head starting to spin.

“Do you remember what I said about that greasy mobster that got out on bail? About how the right combination of traits can make someone untouchable?”

Bruce straightened, “are you suggesting…”

 “You have an opportunity here, an opportunity not only to right wrongs in your own life but to change the very landscape of Gotham itself. The power, the respect – you have it Bruce. You could walk right into that courtroom, blow his head off and no one could touch you. Hell Bruce, who could blame you? I bet some would even mark you as a hero.”

Bruce slammed the top of his suitcase shut, “murder isn’t justice.”

“The only justice you will get in this world is the kind you make for yourself.”

Jack moved behind Bruce and wrapped his arms around him, “I’m not telling you what to do. I’m only giving you a bit of social permission to do what you already wanted to do.”

Bruce pushed Jack away, “I don’t want to kill him!”

“ _I have to do something._ That’s what you said Bruce. What exactly were you going to do? Stand there and hope someone will sacrifice their career to let this man stay in jail because it’s _the right thing to do_? Wake up Bruce! In the timeline of Gotham your parents’ deaths were eons ago. I’m sure few even remember them. They selfishly care about the present, forgetting how much was sacrificed to get them there. “

Bruce tried to walk out of the room but Jack stood in his way.

“You’re always telling me how you wish things were different, how you want to change things. Here it is, bright, shiny, and wrapped in a bow.”

Bruce tried to let what Jack said absorb into his mind. As usual, the cunning dealer wasn’t that far off from the truth.  Bruce thought about killing Joe Chill many times and a small part of him had seen this as an opportunity. The fact that he was even considering it sent a chill down his spine.

“I can’t see right from wrong here,” Bruce felt some relief in saying out loud what had been running through his mind since Rachel’s call.

“Right and wrong are subjective concepts Bruce. It all depends on who is the judge. But I can tell you one thing, pulling that trigger will set in motion a change that city needs.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Right now there are too many chefs in the kitchen and their messing everything up, as evident by this Joe Chill decision. The DA wants what they want, the cops want what they want, the politicians want what they want, and the mob bosses want what they want. They are all different sketches of the same greedy person,” Jack paused and put his hands on Bruce’s shoulders, looking into his eyes, “By pulling that trigger you set in effect a new movement of righting the wrongs in Gotham. You have influence and power, you could make sure what was done was only best for the city. I could help keep the seedy underbelly in check. At the end of the day we’d be in charge of a great little utopia.”

“That doesn’t sound right.”

Bruce had lost some of the fight he had in him when Jack first brought this up. What he was saying had an eerie kind of logic to it. Could he really help Gotham become a better place by killing someone?

“There you go with right and wrong again. I know what you want – you want what’s best for you and what’s best for Gotham.”

Jack pressed his face into Bruce’s neck. Bruce felt his heart skip as Jack’s arms wrapped around him.

“I really think you can do this.”

Bruce looked down at the man in his arms. This was completely insane, but he couldn’t say no to the kind of future Jack was offering.

“I think I heard a _we_ in there earlier,” Bruce teased.

 Jack smirked, “I think I could be of some assistance, should you require it.”

Bruce felt the chill come back as he further examined their conversation. They were standing here talking about murdering someone. He _shouldn’t_ be this ok with the idea. But this was the person who killed his parents and according to some police reports was suspected of numerous other violent crimes. If he got out there was a high likelihood that he would hurt someone again. Killing him was more like a preventative measure than anything else.

As for Jack’s utopia, the idea had some merit – even if it was just sounded like a silly premise for Jack to follow him back to Gotham.  The thought of having Jack with him made Bruce more confident. Maybe he could use his name to change Gotham itself. That’s exactly what his parents had tried to do. But maybe with someone like Jack by his side he could make a bigger impact. Maybe his name wasn’t such a curse after all. 

“You’re thinking again.”

Bruce looked down, “I have to think. I am the brains of this operation anyhow.”

Jack let out a laugh, cocking his head to the side with a smirk, “if you’re so smart, why didn’t you order some Chinese before going postal?”

Bruce shoved Jack out of his way and sprinted towards the kitchen.

“Just for that, you are not getting any crab rangoons.”


	26. Chapter 26

Jack sprinted down the hallway towards Ellie’s room, picking a stray piece of pork fried rice from his hair and putting it in his mouth.  Sex plus Chinese takeout equals mess. He paused to wonder if he could actually copyright that equation.

“A delicious mess,” Jack said letting himself into his temporary homestead. He turned to the left and started rummaging through the boxes he stuffed into Ellie’s closet. He wasn’t a huge fan of guns but keeping one around was always a good idea.

“Looking for this?” A Marlboro-thick voice filled the air behind Jack.

Jack bit down on the rush of fear that gripped him and turned to see a lanky man in his fifties sitting at Ellie’s desk waving a revolver at him. The man took a slow drag off the cigarette in his hand and threw the gun at Jack.

“You should keep this on you.”

Jack turned the gun over in his hands.

“Never knew you were the protective type, Dad.”

“I invested a lot of time, money, and effort into you Jackie-boy,” he squinted at him through the smoke and took another drag,” I’m just protecting an asset.”

Jack did not have time for this family reunion. A car would be coming for Bruce any moment and he wanted to say goodbye. More importantly he had to give him the gun. He doubted Bruce would keep still go through with it if he had to buy one when he got to Gotham.

Jack smiled, “dad I’m kind of in a hurry.”

“Don’t you fucking smile at me,” a book slammed against the closet, just missing Jack’s head, “you and that fucking smile. You think you can get anything you want in this life if you flash that fucking grin. I had to work for what I got and so will you. Mark my words. It may fool whoever you are on your way to fuck but I can see past it.”

“Well thank you for that bit of wisdom,” Jack tucked the gun into his jeans before moving to the door.

“I’m here boy. Don’t you pretend like you don’t know what that means.”

Jack’s hand tightened around the cold doorknob under his hand, “time to pay the piper.”

*****

The car arrived earlier than Bruce had anticipated and his bags were almost loaded into the car when Jack arrived at the door. Bruce instructed the driver to take the last bag and wait in the car for him. When the man left Bruce finally looked at Jack. Something was off, Jack seemed shaken.

“What’s wrong?”

Jack chucked slipping the gun out of his waistband, “I need more exercise, that run across the quad nearly killed me.”

Bruce’s eyes fixed on the gun, “that’s it, huh.”

Jack reached for Bruce’s hand, opened it, and slid the gun onto his palm.

“Yeah,” Jack looked into Bruce’s eyes, “that’s it.”

Bruce was the first one to close the distance between them with a kiss. His heart ached as Jack wrapped his arms around him. He tried to slide entirely into Jack’s kiss but the cold metal in his hand pulled him back to reality. He stepped back and looked at the gun again.

Jack squeezed his shoulder, “as soon as you pull that trigger, I’ll be there.”

Bruce had been rolling things around in his mind since Jack left. Mostly, whether or not he actually could go through with this. But leaving Jack weighed heaver on his mind than the plan itself. Bruce wondered if he was doing this just to be sure knew he and Jack would end up together.   Why should violence have to bring them back together? Couldn’t they just leave this place behind…together?

“Why don’t you come with me now? Nothing’s holding you here.”

Jack’s eyes widened for a moment and then he looked at the floor, “something important has come up. Family business.”

Jack slid his hand under Bruce’s shirt and rubbed the warm skin underneath, “it’s not going to keep me from coming to you. I promise.”

Bruce put his hand on the fabric to stop Jack’s movements. He pulled Jack’s hand out and held it. They both stood in silence staring at their hands clasped together. 

Bruce felt heaviness in his chest. He didn’t know if he could go through with what they were planning and he knew that meant he may never see Jack again. The thought of turning from him now and walking away echoed the emptiness he felt weeks after his parent’s death. Whether he’d wanted this deep of a connection or not, it was here now. Nothing he could do would erase it. All of his rationalizing over the past weeks evaporated as he looked into those green eyes.  He knew what this was and for the first time it didn’t scare him.

“Jack,” Bruce lost his words and squeezed Jack’s hands, hoping it would finish what he was trying to say.

“You changed me Bruce,” Jack smiled leaning in for another chaste kiss.

“Me too,” Bruce whispered against that smile he loved so much.

They let go of each other and walked to the car in silence. Jack gave Bruce one last hug whispering, “I’ll be there soon,” into his ear. The door closed, shutting Bruce off from Jack and away from the dealer’s world. Bruce felt the gun in his pocket as the car pulled away and thought about how much Jack _had_ changed him. For the first time in his life he felt confident and happy with who he was. Bruce Wayne, the man who would change Gotham City. A vision of Jack’s smile flashed into his mind. With a little help from a friend.

“Driver, let’s go home.”


	27. Chapter 27

Jack remembered the first and only time his dad had told him about “the curse” he claimed plagued their family.

An actual conversation with either of his parents was rare but that night his father dipped into their stash early after a particularly good deal. It should have been Jack celebrating.

He had pretty much run the business since he was 16 because his parents were either too high or too clumsy to get shit done. He had never wanted to follow their path but it was made apparent at a young age that dealing was the only thing he could do to keep a roof over his head and food in his mouth.  He had been the adult for so long, taking care of his strung-out parents.

That night was no different. His father couldn’t sit for more than a second at their second-hand kitchen table without swaying. Watching him made Jack nauseous.

“It’s our brains,” his father got quiet and leaned across the table so far Jack thought it may tip over.

“We are a cursed kind Jackie boy. Somewhere along the lines one of us angered the Gods and they punished us with brilliance. Brilliant brains. That’s what it is, son – our brains are just too smart. But that’s all a part of the curse.  It’s not too long before you see ghosts.”

Jack brushed some of the stray white powder off his homework that migrated across the table with the summer breeze, “seeing ghosts, huh? How Shakespearian.”

He had expected his father to get angry and lay into him like he usually did. He wouldn’t have minded, going one round around the house with his hold man was the only thing that kept him sane sometimes. But he didn’t. He just sat their smiling, the look on his face made Jack’s skin crawl.

“You’ll see them too. My daddy did and now I do. You’ll see them too, just you wait. We angered the Gods, Jack; we all have to pay our dues.”

Not long after that conversation father started wandering the house at night, and then he started having outburst during the day, talking to no one. One day his father nearly got them killed freaking out at their main source and pulled a gun on him. Jack barely made it out of there alive. He left home that night and never went back. He found a doctor and he cleaned out a chunk of his parents savings to pay for tests and pills.

He made a promise to himself to never turn out like his dad. He would always be in control and outsmart the world at every turn. He hadn’t thought about the miserable bastard until he showed up in Ellie’s dorm room two months ago. Back when he said goodbye to Bruce, still had pills, and all the pieces fit together. 

Bruce.

Jack wondered where the billionaire was as a fist collided with his jaw.

Jack spit pieces of a broken tooth and blood onto the floor and looked up. Cesar said something to him but he had missed it.

“Can’t hear you when The Hulk here is tenderizing my face, Cesar. Could you repeat the question?”

Jack heard Cesar call the man off in Spanish. When the bulk finally cleared his view he saw Cesar leaning against a stainless steel countertop through the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut. As soon as the thugs got him into the car he’d braced himself for a fight but they out matched him. They dragged him into Knuckle’s kitchen, tied him to a chair and jammed him up against a stove.

“If I had known that girl you killed with _MY_ drugs was Marcus’ daughter, this would have happened weeks ago.”

Cesar slowly moved from the counter, walking towards Jack with purpose in every step.

“Marcus’ drugs are inferior and so is he, you should know better Jack. Back when I heard I got so disappointed, I thought you were supposed to be so smart. But then I thought about all that shit you pulled with that boy-fuck of yours and I wonder if there isn’t something else. “

Cesar stopped in front of Jack and removed a large knife from a leather sheath on his belt.

“Then I find out your making plans with Marcus, plans to avenge his daughter. To kill me and take what’s mine. Well let me tell you Jack, I’m willing to kill to keep what’s mine.”

Cesar was right actually, Jack had made plans with Marcus. More of a “what if” kind of fallback plan in case the Bruce thing had fell through.  Jack paused and let the details of the plan surface in his mind. What day was it? _Shit!_ He had missed a meeting, how could he have forgotten. That must have been when Cesar got the drop on Marcus. How could he have been so sloppy?

Cesar put the knife under Jacks’ chin and pressed until Jack brought his chin up to eye level.

“Are you listening Jack? I figured you out man.”

Fuck him.

“Well - let the beating commence,” Jack spat blood in Cesar’s face. 

Cesar grimaced, grabbing a towel off the countertop and wiping his face, saying something vicious in Spanish that didn’t quite translate through Jacks banged-up brain.  He closed his eyes and tried to formulate a way out of this mess.

“Didn’t expect you to puss-out like this.”

Jack felt his blood boil as he recognized the voice coming from the shadows on the far side of the kitchen.  He opened his eyes to see his father standing behind Cesar.  Jack grit his teeth, a set up between the two most unlikely partners. 

“Does it make you mad that I figured you out bandejo?”

The purple and red flesh that was Jack’s mouth stretched wide as he started to laugh.

“This is how I got your number.” Cesar was in front of him again, swishing the blade through the air, “you’re fucking crazy. You can’t plan shit because your loco-ass will always fuck it up.”

Cesar brought the handle of the knife down on Jack’s head. The pain vibrated from his skull down his spine and made his toes twitch. Jack’s head fell forward from the force of the blow. He let it stay there, watching the pattern his blood made as it dripped onto the floor.  His vision blurred and the red specks together on the cement floor turned to swirls of color. The red mingled with the darkness creeping into his field of vision. Chaos, that beautiful picture, swam in front of his face now. 

Was that all it really had been? Scenes from his life followed the slopes of red and faded into black. All of his life he struggled to out maneuver the paths set before him. He watched his first deal, out maneuvering the cop, running from home…the memories seemed so random now.  His grand schemes seemed petty, one step to the left or one second too late could have changed everything. He never really controlled everything – it had controlled him. He had been pushed and pulled by the chaos around him but he never had pushed back.

Ice water hit Jack’s face and he hissed in pain. The water rinsed the blood on the floor, leaving only traces of his memories behind.

“Oh Jack. I thought we lost you there.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Let me recap what you missed,” Cesar tapped the blade of the knife on the counter next to him. “That money Bruce gave me was more than enough to get you out of jail. When I heard what you tried to do…didn’t your mother ever teach you not to shit where you eat? You came to this town with a reference and a bag of dope but I let you in, I let you move up, eat in my bar, speak to my family, and that is how you repay me! So I decide I’m not going to give you a pot to piss in. I take the rest of that money and I call in favors. Every fucking person who owes me something.”

Cesar laughed and stood silent for a moment, looking at Jack like he was a puppy who had peed on a new rug.

“I take from you exactly what you tried to take from me. You have no life. Everything you are has been erased. You will never show up in any database anywhere. You can’t even get a fucking library card.”

Cesar laughed harder, banging the knife on the counter behind him.

“Well, now that I’ve gone the way of the unicorn, can I go?”

“You don’t get it do you?” Cesar was in Jack’s face again, “your lack of ID made it so easy to prove to everyone else that you were with the feds. No one will touch you now. Except me, of course.”

Cesar slid the blade along Jack’s chest just hard enough to tare the fabric of his shirt and graze the skin beneath.

Jack didn’t understand. There had to be a hole in Cesar’s plan. Not to mention the fact that killing him would make all of the money and work he put into making him invisible worthless.  Cesar was saying he was the crazy one but his plan was just wacky.  There had to be another reason for doing this – his dad, perhaps?

Jack looked at his father who leaned casually against a supply shelf with the same attached yet detached expression he wore when he watched football.  He was into the game, sure, but he could get up and leave whenever he wanted because the end result didn’t matter. 

“So what are you getting out of this dad?”

Cesar stopped laughing and turned to face the man behind him. “Your father?”

“He didn’t tell you? Doesn’t surprise me. This shifty son of a bitch taught me everything I know. I bet he’s got other plans for this little beat-down you don’t even know about.”

“Your father?” Cesar’s laughter came back now, its volume approaching manic levels.  “Don’t you try to fuck with me!” He lunged at Jack, sliding the chair into the oven behind it. Pain burned through Jack’s forearm and he could feel the slick warmth of blood trailing down his arm.  The blade of Cesar’s knife flicked against his throat.

“Don’t get pissed at me Cesar. Ask him what he’s getting out of this, “Jack looked over Cesar’s shoulder, “so is this your revenge dad? Watch some psycho hack me to pieces?”

“I put a lot of time and effort into you, Jackie boy. Don’t think something that simple would satisfy me.” His father spoke every word with calm certainty and Jack knew the worst was yet to come.

Cesar began screaming at him in Spanish, landing shallow cuts along his arms and legs. Jack thought it looked like Cesar was dancing as he paced, slashed, paced in front of Jack.  Cesar pushed him against the oven again and Jack felt the same pain in his arm. His memory flashed an image before him, Cesar beating someone in the kitchen a few months ago. Jack had stood right where his father was, probably wearing the same expression while Cesar’s goons threw the man against the oven.  One of the knobs had broken. Jack focused all his strength on extending his finger to graze the jagged metal. They had never replaced it.  For the first time since Cesar told him his plan Jack felt some hope. He began discreetly rubbing the tape against the sharp knob. It wasn’t too hard; Cesar had beaten him up pretty bad so shaking didn’t look out of place. He was in a lot of pain but he had to keep it together. There were two guys besides Cesar that had guns. But he had Bruce’s lighter in his back pocket. He’d palmed it from his suitcase when he wasn’t looking. He wanted something tangible to hold until he could get Bruce again. Now it was looking like it would really come in handy. Maybe if he could get the gas going… an explosion would be risky but if he could get to the picture window on his right he could jump out. One story wasn’t that bad of a fall…

“Look at this fucker, not even listening to me,” Cesar was straddling him again and Jack had to wonder if the fucking spic wasn’t enjoying it. Cesar plunged the knife into his thigh before he could question his sexuality.

Jack screamed, the pain was overwhelming and he was struggling to not pass out. He let his most common motivator take over and rage filled his veins. The adrenaline dulled the pain enough so he could look at his dad again.

“I’m going to fucking kill you. I had so many opportunities as a kid and I really regret not taking them. I’m going to get out of this and when I do I am going to cut your heart out.”

Cesar looked behind him, “I’ll be god-dammed. You know what Jack; you’ve got a lot of guts. “Cesar tapped him on the forehead with the blade of his knife.

Jack didn’t care what Cesar was saying, his hands were almost free. He had already turned the knob and the oven behind him had been filling with gas for the past few minutes.

“Before I see what color those guts are I’m going tell you two things. One, you are not going to make it out of here. Two, your father…”

Cesar paused and looked at the man behind him.  Jack was almost free; he just had to wait for an opening. He could get the hell out of here. He would go to Gotham and he would find Bruce. There was nothing left for him here anyways. There never had been. His whole life had been so carefully thought out but the only part that had made any sense was Bruce. Maybe he could give it up. He was pretty sure with Bruce he could do anything.

“…isn’t here.”

Cesar had whispered the words into Jack’s ear so he didn’t know if he had heard him right. The drug lord hopped off his lap and started howling with laughter.

“You are fucking insane Jack. There is no one there, you’re talking to a ghost,” Cesar threw his head back and laughed, his goons joining in.

Through swollen eyes and hair matted with blood Jack looked at his father. The sound of his heartbeat drowned out the laughter that filled the room.

“This is my revenge son. I told you, we all have a pound of flesh to give to the devil. “His father’s body started to blur and turn to TV static. All that remained was the sound of his father’s laugh, the same insane high pitch sound he remembered hiding from as a child.

_This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening._

His heartbeat started to move the colors in his eyes, throbbing shades of red, blue and purple, swirling. He watched pieces of his life that were silhouetted against the ebb and flow of color; him finding his dad in his room, his father helping him dispose of Ellie’s body, his father in Cesar’s kitchen. The blue moved to red and the same images played; him talking to an empty room and getting the gun, him stuffing Ellie inside of a duffle bag, the empty space in Cesar’s kitchen.

A scream that reminded him of his own tore through his subconscious, hurling him back into the sea of laughter in Cesar’s kitchen. He hated laughter, laughter meant no control. No control. No laugh.

“What’s the matter Jack? No smile? You always appreciated a good joke.”

God he had to keep it together. Get out of here, find a doctor, and start up his meds again. Maybe there was still time. 

“Fucking laugh for me Jack!” Cesar stuck the blade in Jack’s mouth and he felt reality return to him in one jagged tear.  Jack’s scream sounded like he was underwater as blood gushed out of the open wound on his face. All this and they were still laughing. Cesar dragged the blade through his other cheek, the pain bringing the burning taste of puke up into Jack’s throat.

Jack’s hands were almost free and the smell of gas started to fill his nose, he was surprised the others hadn’t noticed.  He let his head fall forward and watched blood and saliva form a puddle on his lap. He looked at the cuts on his legs and arms, the pain crippling him. He couldn’t make it out of here like this. There was no way. His sanity was held in place by sheer willpower and he didn’t know how much longer he could deny the frenzying effect of the pain.

Laughter rang in Jack’s ears and he didn’t know if it was Cesar or if the sounds were from the devil in his head. The sound tore at his senses and Jack knew he had no other choice but to let go. He closed his eyes and tried to will himself to pass out.

Another laugh joined the crowd. This laugh was different from the rest; it filled him with warmth and quickly over powered the other voices. Bruce’s laugh. The billionaire was in bed with him, their limbs intertwined. They were laughing together about something.  Water began collecting in the puddle of blood in front of him and he realized he was crying and not because of the pain. The answer to everything had been with him the whole time.

Chaos.  It had pushed him but when he finally broke his own rules and let go he found something – someone – he had never expected.

The thing with Bruce had been chaotic. But it was the most beautiful arrangement of random events he had ever had in his life. When he said that Bruce had changed him, he meant it. He would never be the same again.  Now Bruce was gone- missing, according to the news.

Jack gritted his teeth and focused his mind back on the present situation. He opened his eyes and looked again at his wounds, the pain was dulled now. Jack’s mind was occupied with more important things. It wasn’t enough to get out of this kitchen.  That was short-sighted. Bruce. That god dammed city had swallowed him whole ever since it took his parents. No one understood him, no one cared about him, and no one would fight for him. He and Bruce were two sides to the same coin. 

More voices of people not in the kitchen started creeping into Jack’s mind; Ellie, his mother, professors, police officers. He knew there wasn’t much time. He had to be strong, he had to get out of here and find Bruce. He had to keep a piece of who he was inside of the monster he would become.

Jack discreetly pulled his hands free and fished the lighter out of his pocket.

He would make it out of here. He would find Gotham and he would punish that city for taking everything from Bruce. He would show them the beauty of chaos and change that town forever. He would make sure they never forgot again.

_I will hate that city as much as I loved Bruce. Love, that’s what it was, wasn’t it? I love him._

The lighter in his hand clicked to life.

Jack smiled.

**The End**


End file.
